God Give Me Courage To Show You
by xo-little-lotte-xo
Summary: Christine is left to fend for herself under the threat of impending dangers that seem to plague her from every side. Can she find her love again? And who will she take with her along her journey of pain, loss and renewal? E/C ... sort of. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, this was only going to be a two chapter stab at a phic, but once I started, I couldn't stop! It's almost all done now actually, but I'm not sure how long the last chapters are going to take. I don't think that this will be a very long story (unless people prefer otherwise) so if you like it please, please, please let me know by reviewing. I really do appreciate everyone's input. This might feel a bit rushed in places and for that, I apologize in advance. I'm just one of those people that try to avoid pointless "fillers" in stories. I don't like to read them and I don't like to write them. So know that just about everything you read will most likely come up again in some way or another. I think it makes it more fun to connect the dots that way.**

**I did rate this as "M" for some pretty graphic injuries and violence and _possible_ future romantic content. Again, let me know if you would like to see it in the story. The first chapter is more of a prologue. It's going to be short, but I promise they get longer!**

**As I said in the summery, I promise you a happy ending if you can get through it. You'll hate me at parts and I know that. I won't hold it against you. Just give me some time and put a little faith in me. If you are disappointed in the end, well, I don't know what I'll do. I'll compose a poem for you or something. **

**It goes without saying that absolutely none of these characters belong to me, if they did, I certainly would be making a whole heck of a lot more money than I do now! I have added a few characters of my own, which ****do**** belong to me, as I am sure you will notice. I did take the liberty of changing the ending so I would ask that you forget the nifty little scenes in the movie/book/play that do not jive with my story. :-)**

**So, without further ado, I give you . . . **

**God Give Me Courage to Show You**

**Chapter One**

_"You try my patience. Make your choice!"_

_He savagely ripped on the rope around Raoul's neck, causing him to choke and sputter. I watched in wretched helplessness from the shore of the menacing underworld that Erik called his home. I had been so torn those past few days. I wish I could have split myself in two and given one to the safety of Raoul's arms and the other the darkness and Erik's dangerous passions. But that was not possible, and so there I was, watching Raoul paying the price for his chivalry. He had come to rescue me from what he was certain was a crazed murderer, and in this particular moment, I couldn't disagree with him. A strange fury burned in Erik's eyes. It was as though he had changed into another person, one who not only had no problem killing another, but seemed to relish the opportunity. _

_I had to think fast. I did not want to spend the rest of my days in fear for my own life if I chose to stay with Erik, but neither was I willing to sacrifice Raoul's life to achieve that. I took a shaky breath and made my decision. _

_With tears streaming down my face, I gave Raoul a long look that begged him to understand. I could see it in his eyes that he knew what I was about to do, as his own eyes begged me not to. I mouthed the three little words that I had no hope of ever hearing again . . . I love you._

_Then I turned to Erik, the odd fury still burning brightly in his eyes. I had to make this work or Raoul was as good as dead. I stepped into the murky water, no longer caring about ruining the elegant wedding dress that Erik had me wearing. I clutched tightly to the ring in my hand. My ring. The small little symbol that would seal my fate forever. I had heard it described as being a representation of love, with no beginning and no end. To me it was a symbol of my sentence, I would live in Erik's darkness, a prisoner of an angel, until death released me. At what point I had fallen willingly into his trap I wasn't sure. Just like the ring. No beginning. No end. Somehow, I knew that even in death I would not be able to escape from the mangled face before me._

"_Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone."_

_Each step brought me closer to him, and with every word, I somehow felt strangely calmer. I knew what I had to do, and I could not have any regrets. I slipped the ring onto my finger and, wrapping my hands around his neck, drew him down towards me._

_The first sensation of his lips on mine was quite unlike anything I had ever felt before, nor did I ever wish to feel it again. It was like kissing death. He felt cold and his body was rigid from the shock of my boldness. _

_Then a strange thing happened. As though stealing the warmth from my body, his lips thawed and began to return the pressure that I had placed upon him. I slowly became aware that his arms had hesitantly wrapped themselves about my waist and was holding me very lightly to him. I pulled back and looked at him, his eyes had lost the angry glow and was replaced with something that closely resembled agony._

_I forgot completely just what I was doing down there. I forgot that my fiancée was bound with ropes and had a lasso tied around his neck. I forgot the fact that I was standing in an underground lake with a man who two minutes previous had been ready to kill another human without the slightest inkling of guilt. All I knew was that I longed to take away all of his pain, all of his hurt, and all of his longing and loneliness. All I knew was that I wanted to devote the rest of my days to making sure that he was happy. I wanted to show him that more than his world of darkness that he had plunged himself into was awaiting him._

_And so I did. _

_I kissed him again. _

That was three months ago. I won't lie, I hated seeing Raoul leave. It ripped my heart out to see the look on his face as he watched Erik return to me after freeing him from ropes that bound him. As Erik led me out of the water and to the shore with his arm around my shoulders, I looked back. I shouldn't have, it was a sight that will haunt me for eternity. I might as well have stabbed him through the heart, for I fear the hurt that that would have inflicted would have paled considerably to the pain I had caused by leaving him.

He knew why I did it, but I am quite sure that he would gladly have given his life for the knowledge that I was safe and that I loved him beyond anything else in the world.

The truth though was that I had begun to doubt. I had tried to convince myself that I still loved Raoul like a proper future wife should, but even before I had made my choice to stay with Erik there was a nagging in the back of mind that told me the horrid truth. I no longer loved Raoul as I used to. I did love him, that was plain by the ache in my heart that was a result of his absence, but it was the love of a dear friend or even brother, not of a fiancée.

Erik and I had not kissed since that night. Indeed, we had barely touched. He seemed to try to avoid that almost as desperately as I did. I spent most of my days going about my work with a morbidly blank expression on my face. I cleaned and read to pass the time. I attempted cooking, but sadly, I am not skilled in that area. I did try as an attempt to pass the time but I always failed exceedingly. Erik never complained. He had never even made a comment about the wretched smell that often permeated the catacombs after my attempts. He would simply take the utensils from my hand and complete the task with annoying perfection. The only thing I have managed to create in the kitchen without completely ruining it is tea, though I still fear that I make it wrong. Once I caught Erik adding something to it when he thought I wasn't looking. I made a mental note to discover what it was so that I could add it for him.

The need to make him happy had not left me since the night of our kiss, but I was so unsure how to do it. I had not even seen him smile. At times I was not sure he even knew how to smile without having his catgut lasso around someone's neck.

One day, a few weeks into my voluntary prison life, he sat reading one of the many books from his rather impressive collection while I was cleaning. This was nothing knew, as he spent the vast majority of his time reading. The grand organ sat as silent as the grave, it's presence ever pressing on me as the days went on. He had not asked me to sing for him and I had not volunteered. I believe we both realized that music would have to be something to work back into the remains of our lives. I do not doubt that he was waiting for me to ask him, but I was still far too preoccupied with my ever increasing depression to bother.

I was daydreaming about the world that passed ignorantly by above me and dropped the cloth that I had been using to wipe the dust from the shelves and it landed just behind his chair. I bent to pick it up and instinctively put a hand out to brace myself. It wasn't until I heard the sharp intake of his breath and what I must assuredly have confused to be a moan that I realized that when I had grabbed the back of the chair, I had accidentally brushed my fingers against his shoulder. I hurriedly pulled my hand away, but I had the distinct impression that he wouldn't have minded if I hadn't.

He did not cringe from my touch or pull away. Could it be something as simple as a gentle touch that could reach his black soul? The problem was, to touch him caused something to stir within me, something that scared me even more horribly than living in this hazy hell.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you so much to those of you who have decided to continue on with this story. Just to give you a head's up, there will be an alternate ending to this story. I wasn't going to, but I kept going back and forth and finally decided to post my original ending first because it's longer and happier, but I'll post the one chapter alternate ending last because it's beautiful, if I do say so myself. I say that now because after this the chapters are going to get sad really fast. Please hang in there with me though. You won't be sorry.**

**Also, as I am posting this, I already have the rest of the story practically written. It needs a little editing and maybe a chapter or two more, but other than that, it's all set, so I will be continuing to post a new chapter every to every other week. If it takes me longer, it's probably just because I'm swamped with work and school.**

**Please please please review! I'm dying not knowing what you all are thinking of this so far!**

_**Chapter 2**_

The day started out as nothing special. It had not even registered that it was three months ago the last time I had seen another living creature outside of Erik. I had reluctantly started becoming used to the idea. In some ways it was even comforting. I would never have to worry about impressing anyone again. Neither would I worry about losing friendships, for now I had none. That sad realization hit me as I walked out of my out-of-place ornate bedroom. In fact, I was so caught up in the overwhelming sadness that suddenly overtook me that I did not notice the boat. It made a scraping sound as it hit the ground and caused me to glance up. At first I thought I was hallucinating, but after I blinked a few times I began to register that I was not.

There was Erik, in all his tantalizingly dangerous glory, but there was a girl in the boat with him, looking absolutely terrified. There was also another woman, sitting further back, looking statuesque. As the girl saw me, she smiled and waved, it took me a little while to realize that I was mimicking her with my own smile and wave. I ran to the boat feeling the happiest I had felt in a long time.

"Christine!" The girl shrieked as she jumped uncharacteristically ungracefully from the boat, catching her feet on the edge in her excitement before running to me, seeming to temporarily forget about the man in the mask just a few feet from her.

"Meg!" I practically screeched her name in my shock as I raced to her like a starving man to food.

Meg and I embraced fiercely and I found that tears were running down my face. It was a long moment before we pulled away and I realized that Meg's face was also wet with her own tears of joy.

I looked to the woman and though she was also wearing a smile, it was not the ear-to-ear one that Meg and I both had.

"Christine, dear, how are you?" Her words were warm and calming, just like what I imagined my mother's sounding like.

"Madame Giry!" I soon found myself in Madame Giry's arms and hugged her as well. She pulled away and held me at an arm's distance with her hands on my shoulders and surveyed me from head to toe.

"I am . . . doing well." I managed to say. Interesting choice of words, now that I look back on it, but what was I supposed to say? _Well, after being kidnapped, Erik made me choose between Raoul and him. I wasn't sure what to do because I didn't want to live here but Erik was going to kill Raoul if I didn't and now that I'm living here I really want to make Erik happy but he won't even smile, oh and by the way, my cooking is horrendous, how have you been doing?_

She gave me one last hard look and nodded her head. It seemed that though she wasn't pleased with the answer I had given, at least she was content with it. We were interrupted, thankfully, by Meg who shoved a small bag into my hands. I looked from the bag to Meg quizzically, not comprehending the meaning.

"Happy birthday!" She beamed back at me.

My mind went blank. Birthday? I searched my brain and let out a small laugh as I realized that it was indeed my birthday. How could I have forgotten? I looked in the bag, a hand me down from a previous gift, but I didn't mind. I let out a gasp as the tears began to flow anew. There in my hand was the picture of my father that I had kept by my bedside every day since I first came to the Paris Opera House when I was seven.

"Oh, Meg. Thank you so much." My voice was no more than a whisper as I wiped my tears that had fallen onto the picture of the person I missed more than even my freedom. I hugged her again and turned to look at Madam Giry so I could tell her thank you as well, but she had gone. I glanced around until I saw her returning from the boat with another bag that she handed to me. I pulled out a velvet-covered box the size of my hand. When I opened it I was speechless. Thankfully, Madam Giry took away my need to inquire why I was staring at an exquisite, antique, diamond necklace with matching chandelier earrings.

"They were your mother's. Your father asked me to hold on to them for you. I thought that this was the perfect chance to give them back to you."

I nodded before managing a very weak and creaky thanks.

Erik watched me from a safe distance, so still that I could have believed he was carved into the foreground, but for his intensely scrutinizing gaze. He looked ready to step in and shoo the guests out at the first sign of my unhappiness, but Meg and Madame Giry were my family. I could never be unhappy at seeing them.

Eventually, after apparently convincing himself that I would not wish them gone, he stole away without a sound as I gestured to some chairs the sat on a raised part of the cellar, close to the lake edge as a proper hostess would do. I laughed inwardly. The proper hostess of Hades.

The three of us sat talking for hours while Erik remained absent most of the day. We talked about everything I had missed since my 'disappearance'. I couldn't help the stabbing pain in my heart as I was told of Piangi's death. I hated death of any kind, it did not matter if it be human or animal, though in Piangi's case, both might have applied. Thankfully neither Meg nor Madame Giry felt it necessary to admit what I already knew. Piangi had not died due to the fire, but because of the one who started the fire. The man I now shared a dark and lonely world with.

The mood was lightened considerably by Meg's telling of Carlotta's inability to keep a job in the theater. No one would turn away a name like La Carlotta, but no one could stand her incessant whining and complaining.

"Maybe she should try children's theater," Meg commented. "then she could tell them the story of when her voice changed to a toad's."

There was a rather loud crash of pans that came from the direction of the kitchen and a stifled grunt that might have even passed for laughter had it been from any other person. Apparently Erik had been listening to our talk and had been caught off-guard by the comment and had dropped something that sounded rather heavy. Served him right for eavesdropping, but even so I could not help laughing along.

Meg and I spoke of our childhood adventures and the trouble we used to get into. We had just finished telling Madam Giry of the time we had been climbing trees and I had fallen and we had to explain why I had a twisted ankle. We had tried to pass it off that we had been practicing extra hard and Madame Giry had said that since we enjoyed extra practices that she would be obliged to have us practice an extra two hours a day for a full week. Meg and I were shocked but then could not contain her laughter when Madame Giry confessed that she had known the entire time how I had truly twisted my ankle. We were all laughing, caught up in the past, that at first we did not see Erik standing there watching us.

"Dinner is ready," he said with a graceful and elegant bow of the head that would put any French gentleman to shame.

We all rose to walk to the kitchen. I was too busy whispering with Meg to notice Madame Giry and Erik exchange knowing glances.

"Christine, dear, perhaps you would like to change into something a little nicer for your birthday dinner?" Madame Giry said in that motherly tone of hers.

I had completely forgotten I was still wearing my plain, and unflattering, cleaning clothes. I turned to head to my room and Meg turned to follow as I knew she would. It was that sisterly connection we had that always had us picking out each other's birthday dresses, but we were halted by Madam Giry once again.

"Meg, would you please help me with something?"

"But I was going to help Christine."

"I know, but I think Christine is big enough to pick out her own clothing."

There were more words of protest, but I ultimately walked to my room alone. As I opened the door, my attention was immediately drawn to the bed. There, spread with delicate care was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen in my life, on stage or off. The rich, deep blue of the material reminded me of something that a queen would wear, despite the relatively simple design of the pattern. There was a silver ribbon trimmed on the bottom hem and around the waist which after being tied, fell nearly to the floor. Silver lace formed a corset top and the sleeves, intentionally longer than my arms would actually reach, and on top of the dress, lain with great care, was a single red rose with a black satin ribbon tied around it. Tears welled in my eyes at the thoughtfulness. Erik was truly a remarkable, albeit mysterious, man. I changed rapidly and after fastening the diamond necklace Madame Giry had said was my mother's around my neck and putting on the earrings, I hastily pinned my hair up. I walked from the room feeling like royalty.

The weight of the jewelry was much more than I was used to, clearly not made of plaster and sequins like the stage jewelry I had previously worn.

I would never know how Erik came by the dress. It was just another mysterious layer to a very complicated man. Sometimes I wondered if he didn't simply conjure up whatever he wished, but I knew that wasn't true and I could appreciate how much attention he had put into finding one perfect for me.

There was a collective gasp as I walked into the room. The gown fell gracefully around my feet as I walked, making me feel like I was walking on air.

There were exclamations from both women, but Erik remained silent. He turned his head away, but not before I caught the same agonized expression on his face that I had seen before on the night of our kiss. I felt a moment of utter despair as I took his turn away from me as rejection. Perhaps he felt that someone as simple as myself did not do such a dress justice, I couldn't have agreed more, but my cheeks still burned in shame until Meg's gushing about how she wished she had a dress half as lovely to wear finally distracted me sufficiently to temporarily forget Erik's reaction, or at lease to push it as far back in my thoughts as possible that I again did not notice when he left - without eating.

After the, most spectacular dinner anyone ever tasted, which included every single one of my most favorite dishes, we talked for a while longer before Madame Giry broke the happy mood with the most ill news I had heard all day.

"Meg, I am afraid we must be going. It is very late."

Both Meg and I objected vehemently, but when Madame Giry said something, it was done and nothing anyone said could change that, and it was exceedingly unwise to try. She left to fetch Erik while Meg and I said our tearful good-byes.

"You'll come to see me again, won't you?" I asked hopefully.

"I'm not sure. I didn't think we would be coming here today but maman woke me up and said that Erik was here to escort us to see you." Her voice lowered to a whisper, it seemed like she was speaking with the hopes that Madame Giry wouldn't hear. "And there's been talk, maman says she thinks something is coming. She said not to worry about it, but I caught her writing a letter to her cousin in London. I think she plans for us to visit her."

I nodded, feeling very sad about not knowing when I would see my surrogate sister and mother again.

We hugged and cried for several minutes, not wasting a single moment while Madame Giry was gone, thankful that she took a little longer than necessary to tell Erik she was ready to leave, but eventually she did return, all too soon in my opinion and Meg went to wait in the boat as Madame Giry took her turn at saying goodbye to me.

"Thank you for coming, and for the wonderful gifts, Madame Giry. They mean so much to me."

"Don't thank me, child, thank Erik. If it hadn't been for him, we wouldn't have been able to come. He cares about you very much. He only wants you to be safe." She said this looking very intently into my eyes, as though she were trying to convey something of the utmost importance to me.

I didn't feel the need to mention that if it hadn't been for Erik, I wouldn't be there in first place and therefore wouldn't need his protecting, so I simply nodded. It wasn't the reaction Madame Giry was hoping for, I could tell by the look she gave me, but she sighed and pulled me into one last embrace before joining Meg and Erik, who seemed to materialize out of thin air by the boat. I waved a tearful good by and watched them sail away, taking a little piece of my heart with them.

I curled up in the same chair I had sat in just a short while before when I had been laughing and talking and thought about the day, trying to press every moment into my memory so that I could look back on it with clarity, but it already seemed to slipping away. The silence was profound in the absence of the unusual sound of laughter. Tears of happiness and sadness were both coursing down my cheeks. I was still there when Erik came back. For a moment he just stood at the bank of the lake looking at me and I at him. He seemed to be fighting an inward struggle as to stay or go. Apparently one side of him was winning because he turned to leave.

Before I could stop to reason with myself, I had risen from the chair and ran to him, absently holding the length of the skirt out of the way with one hand. I wasn't thinking. I ran right off the small platform the chairs were resting on to where he still stood by the water's edge. He was so much taller than I was and so much more graceful, that the thought of falling never entered my mind, I just threw my arms around his neck. He caught me with amazing ease, but it caught him by obvious surprise and because of the speed of my leap at him, he spun nearly fully around, causing my dress to swish beautifully in the air. Well, at least I am sure it did, but as I had buried my face into the crook of his neck I didn't see it. His pristine white shirt was soon soaked with my tears.

He wasn't quite sure what to do with me. He put me down, but I still held on to him. He just stood there as I clung to him as his mind must have been processing what had just happened. I think he must have realized that I did not plan on letting go right away because his arms tightened around me and I felt his body relax.

"Happy birthday, Christine."

He whispered my name with a reverence that made my heart ache. I pulled away just enough to be able to whisper, "Thank you, Erik. Thank you for the most wonderful birthday I've ever had."

He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Yes, I write a lot of author's notes. I like feeling connected to my readers. You all get to see little pieces of myself through my writings, but this way you can hear me as I am. Let me know if it bugs you and I'll stop. Or just skip over them. :)**

**The last part was somehow accidently deleted from my computer so I had to type it up pretty fast, excuse me if there's editorial errors in it.**

**I used to write personal responses to every comment people made on the chapters, but apparently that's not allowed anymore. However, I'd be more than happy to write you back individually.**

**I'm really just trying to butter you up because you'll all hate me after this. Please don't leave me. Don't give up on me. It WILL get better. Have faith. It's needed in a story like this. If you're really freaking out by the end, let me know and I'll spill the beans.  
**

_**Chapter Three**_

Not long after my birthday there had been a lot of odd noises filtering down into the fifth cellar. Sometimes I would feel the ground quiver slightly, mimicking me. Over the course of the next few weeks, they had been growing, both in volume and frequency. Erik wouldn't tell me what was happening, but he took to disappearing more and more. I had no idea where he would go and it frightened me to be alone with the bangs resounding seemingly all around me . Sometimes they were so bad that things would fall. More than once I had found my father's picture that I had kept on my bedside table on the floor. It happened so often in fact, that I put the picture in the drawer for safe-keeping.

Erik and I talked more often than before, but still it was mostly just placid conversation, and I almost always had to begin. It felt like he was afraid to scare me back into silence if he were to talk first.

He didn't read as much anymore either. He sat with his fingers steepled in front of him, lost in thought. I could read the distress in his eyes, but whenever I asked him what the matter was, he would just shake his head and mutter unintelligibly under his breath. Eventually, I gave up asking.

One day, I awoke with a yelp as a blast resounded so loudly that it caused me to cover my ears. I waited until the crashes seemed to slow and I rose from my bed and quickly threw on my dressing robe. There was another round of bangs and the ground shook so violently that my solitary mirror, the only one that remained uncovered, hanging on the wall, fell to the ground and shattered. I tried to run but lost my balance with another jolt of the ground and fell. I felt something sharp against my arms, but there was far too much adrenaline coursing through my veins to think about it. I had to get to Erik. I would demand that he would tell me what was going on.

I am sure the shattering made quite a noise because there was a sound of feet thudding uncharacteristically against the stone and as I looked up, Erik came racing through the door. In one swift moment he had me on my feet and was holding me at a distance.

"Christine, are you hurt?" He asked breathlessly.

"No, I'm fine. What was that?"

"You're bleeding," he said with detachment, ignoring my question.

I looked down and with confusion saw that he was right. "I must have fallen on the glass," I said absently. I had never been good around blood and felt the room start to spin slightly. He sat me down on the bed and I gasped in objection when he grabbed the sheet and ripped a strip off. He inspected my arm carefully to be sure that no glass was embedded in the wound. It wasn't that bad, honestly. No more than a scratch, but Erik looked at it as though someone had taken a dagger to the Mona Lisa. He went to the wash basin, perched precariously on my vanity. Most of the water had sloshed out, but there was still enough for him to soak the torn piece of what _had _been an expensive bed sheet. He sat next to me and with the utmost carefulness began to clean my wound.

When he seemed confident that it wasn't life threatening and I would be just fine, he pressed me close to him and I felt the frantic thudding of his heart. The contact was so unusual and his heartbeat so erratic that it scared me more than the noises. I pulled away from him to look him in the eyes.

"Erik, what is going on? You must tell me the truth."

He took a deep breath. He obviously did not want to tell me, but I had to know. After a short silence that felt like several lifetimes to me, he said, "It's the commune, Christine. They're attacking Paris." His words were slow and careful, as though explaining it to a child.

I knew that nothing good that was causing the noise and rumblings, but I had not expected to find that France was under attack.

"We- We should escape. Go somewhere safe." I wasn't sure where we could go, Erik's appearance aside, how would we get out of the city now? The Opera House had been mostly abandoned since the fire caused by the chandelier, so I did not worry about anyone still living in the dormitories.

"And where do you suggest we go, mon ange?" He asked with a humorless laugh. "Even if we could escape, there is no where we could go that the commune would not eventually plague. This is the safest place for you for now."

I didn't miss the choice of words. "What about you? Is this not a safe place for you?"

He sighed. "I will be fine."  
I pulled away from him. "That's not what I asked. Why are you not safe here?"

He seemed almost angry at me as his jaw clenched. I couldn't blame him, I was pestering him like an impatient child, but I was not going to sit by without knowing all that I could. I had played along long enough, now I wanted answers.

"Because Christine, I have been killing their men," he admitted with obvious reluctance. "The Opera House is a very appealing store house for their food and weapons. One of them was lucky enough to discover the catacombs without getting caught in one of the traps and reported it to his commander and now they plan on using it for their make-shift prison. I have been picking off the ones who wander too far in and occasionally just the stupid ones who seem to be too curious. Now, if I am to be caught I will be killed and although I hate to think of what they would do to you, you would be spared."

Unknowingly, I had managed to move slowly backwards away from him and was now flat against the headboard, unable to go any further away from him without risking stepping on the glass. There was another thunderous crash, but not nearly as bad as before. I ignored it completely, focused only on what he has said. I was shaking my head, trying to rid myself of what I had just heard. Before I wanted to know exactly what was going on, but now I wanted nothing more than to be able to forget it. He had been wise in not telling me. I was scared out of my mind now. The idea of Erik killing . . . of being killed, it was too much for my brain to handle. The room began to spin again, though my arm had stopped bleeding. I could feel myself beginning to slip slightly to the side, naturally, because it was me, I was slipping towards the floor instead of the protective mattress.

I felt strong hands on my shoulders at the last second and a muttered sound. Someone talking? Maybe. I couldn't understand anything that was being said though.

I was brought roughly back to reality by Erik gently shaking me.

"Christine, listen to me. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise. I would die before I let them touch you. You must not be scared; I need you to be strong. Can you do that Christine?"

I numbly nodded my head. He again pulled me close to him, not even seeming to realize it himself and I did feel secure, but I did not want him to risk his life for me. I didn't deserve it. I was an awful person. I had hurt Raoul beyond repair and now because of me Erik was not only risking his life, but - I forced myself to think of the word - killing others. Why did there have to be so much death?

That had been why he had been leaving so often. Sometimes he had been gone hours at a time. He was killing people. No, I could not think of it like that. I _would_ not think of it like that. It was too painful. He was protecting me. For some reason, that did not provide much comfort to me. I would rather he stay beside me than go looking for danger.

The physical proximity to each other lasted only long enough for him to carry me to his bedroom, the second grandest room in the underground house second only to my own. He sat me down in his bed and told me that I would be safe there. When he went to leave again he stopped and hesitantly looked back at me with my arms wrapped tightly around my knees, pulled up to my chin, my brown eyes wide with fright, feeling very small in such a large bed. Something flashed across his face, almost pained, but something else was there... hope? It was the closest thing my mind registered to the very fleeting look. He was gone before I could piece it together that he was taking in the sight of _me_ in _his_ bed.

After that, he would not let me get up from the bed unless absolutely necessary, and then it was only with reluctance. He brought me everything I would need: food, water, fresh clothes, books. I knew it was for my safety and I didn't feel like a prisoner to it, I just wished there was something more I could do.

I didn't know where he had been sleeping since my move into his bedroom, or if he was even sleeping at all. The circle under his eye on the unmasked side of his face was getting darker and darker. I assumed that its twin had a matching bruised look.

When Erik would return now, I knew instantly every time he had eliminated another of the opposition because he would not look at me, but he never let me see a speck of blood on him. On the rare occasion when the fighting seemed to be off in the distance, he would allow me to sit outside the room, but only where he could see me, and even then he seemed nervous, agitated, as though he were waiting for something to fall on me.

He had stopped using the boat. He said it was too dangerous that someone find it and then be able to get to the lair. There were a surprisingly many ways of entering and exiting the underground, but Erik alone knew them.

He assured me several times that Madame Giry and Meg had left the city long before the fighting reached the Paris city limits. They were living with the friend of a cousin in Northern England, much too far away to even be concerned about the fighting, so I had no need to worry about their safety and after a while, I began to relax about Erik's safety some as well. He knew what he was doing. He had never come back with so much as a scratch as far as I could see. The probability of him getting hurt seemed so minimal that the idea became almost humorous. After all, who could possibly catch the Phantom of the Opera? Almost humorous. Almost.

* * *

It was late; Erik had been gone for nearly three and a half hours. I knew because I counted the minutes by meticulously as I lay curled up in his bed. Something had just felt wrong. He had left when he thought I was sleeping. He always checked in on me before he would leave, but I was a good actress; it wasn't difficult to pretend to wrap up my arms and breath deep and regularly. What was difficult was keeping up the façade when he would sit down next to me while he thought I lay asleep and he would ever so gently brush a stray curl from my face, or he would run a finger down my jaw line with so much care that it seemed nothing more than a rose had been laid across my face. It was a wonder he didn't hear my heart pounding. It sounded loud enough in my ears to awaken the dead.

Normally, I would just lay awake until I heard his return, when he would check in on me again before he went off to pace some more.

On that night in particular though, I was restless. No longer content to stay in the bed, I disobeyed Erik's strict rule and pulled on my night robe and escaped to sit in a chair with a book that I did not bother to read. I knew I would be in trouble when Erik returned and found me out of the bedroom, but I didn't care. I was just unable to fall asleep and needed to know when he came back.

I do not know how long I had been at it when I heard a painful groan coming from near the lake's edge followed by the sound of something heavy falling to the floor with a dull thud. I ran to the sounds automatically, knowing instinctively that I wasn't in danger, as a great and terrible dread began to fill me. It only increased as I got nearer. The lair wasn't extremely large, but it felt like I was wading through a thick quagmire. My feet took too long to move, though I was practically running. I gasped when I came within sight of him. He was slumped against the ground, his back to me, a trail of blood following after him. His hand print was a terrifying shade of red against the wall, where it slid down to where he was grasping feebly at the stones.

Flinging myself down at his side, I turned him so I could see. His forehead had a deep gash from the bridge between his eyes to the right side of his scalp, covering his face - in the now absence of his mask - so throughly with blood, that I couldn't even see his deformity. What I did see was the dark stain that covered most of his upper torso. His jacket was also missing and the snowy white of his shirt was now a deep crimson and was tattered and ripped in several places.

Without caring about anything else, I ripped the shirt from his body, sending the remaining buttons flying in every direction. I had to remind myself to breathe as I looked at the three lateral gashes that were pouring out his life's blood. They were too terrible to even see how deep they were. His eyes were closed, his left was swollen shut, and his breathing was shallow. I ran quickly to fetch anything to stop the bleeding. I found my pile of clean cloths and rags that I used for cleaning and grabbed as many as would fit in my arms and ran back to him. By the time I reached him, he was on his hands and knees, crawling towards his room. I dropped the rags and knelt by his side.

"Erik, you must lay down, I need to stop the bleeding," I pleaded with him, trying to figure how best to lay him down without causing further injury.

His words were slurred and his visible face was paling with every movement. I did not understand all that he said, but I caught the words "die", "peace" and "bed".

Against my better judgment, but knowing that it was pointless to deny him what he wanted even in his current state, I carefully wrapped my arms around him and helped him up, avoiding coming even close to those three gashes that were ripping me apart to just look at. I supported nearly his entire weight as I struggled to help him walk. After what I was certain was far too long for him to try to be standing, we made it to his bedroom and he collapsed on the bed.

I ran back out for the rags and when I returned, I was afraid that it was already too late, but I caught the barely detectable rise and fall of his wounded chest.

I placed the clothes to his injuries and he let out a pitiful groan. My own breath was choked with tears that I refused to let escape. I worked on him feverishly for what felt like an eternity trying desperately to get the bleeding to stop. I tried to form a tourniquet on each wound, but my arms were weak and I didn't know if I could pull them tight enough to stop the bleeding completely. I could only hope that I would stop it all in time.

I didn't know if it was because he had lost so much blood or if the tightly wrapped strips of cloth were working, but the bleeding slowed. Strangely, the smell or sight of so much blood did not make the room spin, I was far beyond being so affected. Erik was more importantly than my queasy stomach and that helped me to push away the nausea.

"Don't you die on me, Erik. I need you. Please stay with me." I begged with him all through the night. Though I am quite certain that he never heard me, occasionally, I would hear him utter my name.

I left his side to get more clean rags and water. I remembered seeing a small stash of medical items tucked away in one of the kitchen cubbords and I rummaged through it until I found things that I would need. I knew laudanum would help him, but I hadn't the first idea how much to give him. I aired on the side of caution and gave him only a small amount, hoping to ease any pain that he was feeling before I meticulously began cleaning his wounds. I began to crudely sow shut the three gashes and the uncountable number of smaller cuts. I didn't care about making it look nice and neat, only getting them closed before the bleeding got worse again.

I knew I had been working to save him for hours, but I did not know just how many. I didn't want to know. It could have been only two hours or it could have been two days. Despite my exhaustion, I continued to clean the blood away, I saved his face for last, knowing that it would be harder than his chest because it was one wound that I was far too late to heal. One that no one could physically mend. I managed to get the cut sown without trouble, but I was hesitant to clean the blood away this time.

With shaking hands and my last clean piece of cloth I began the task of revealing what I had been absolutely terrified to see. As more and more of the deformity became exposed, I realized something that caught me entirely off guard:

I didn't care.

Even as I was staring at the full extent of what he had spent a lifetime concealing, I couldn't find it in me to be afraid of it. He was still Erik. He was still my angel, and I realized with another shock of epiphany that I loved him. Even as he lay on the stoop of death's door, I knew that if he died I would die as well. Maybe not physically, not right away, though I would when I ran out of food since I had no way to leave, but I knew I would welcome it. Erik believed he didn't have a soul, but I knew he did, because it was sitting beside him, holding his hand and gazing at him with love. And he was my soul, it was so plain that it was such a wonder I hadn't seen it before. I must have been so blind.

I was too exhausted to cry but I couldn't sleep. I cleaned out the pile of bloodied rags that went almost to my knees. I scrubbed furiously at them to make fresh dressings. I had had to use the remainder of my sheets, braving the glass that still covered my floor. It seemed impossible that just a few days ago he was the one cleaning my cut that was now infinitesimal in comparison. I was quickly running out of things to use to keep clean bandages on him. I had even used some of my clothes to mop up the blood, but at least it kept my hands busy. I had done all I could for Erik, all I could do was wait and see if it was enough.

His fever spiked some time during the night and I had never felt so helpless. I tried putting a wet cloth that I had just scrubbed the blood out of to his head, but I wasn't sure if it was working.

It was when he started talking in his sleep that I allowed the first creeping of doubt that he might not survive. Until then I had not allowed myself to think of another option. He would live. He had to live so that I could tell him that I loved him. However much I tried to push it from my mind, though, it would not leave. Most of the things he said made little to no sense to me. He spoke of someone – or something – called Sacha. At first I thought maybe it was his mother, but the way he spoke about her, I could tell it was not, nor was it sounding like any woman at all. Indeed, the more he spoke about her, the more she sounded like a dear pet.

He spoke of other things I could only assume happened to him in the gypsy fair. Raoul had told me about his growing up in one. Madame Giry had apparently told him after the masquerade ball for New Year's.

It was a strange insight to Erik as he relived his past. I knew that he never would have told me of those things if he had not been delirious, and I wished with all my heart that it had not been under those circumstances that I did learn them, but I was almost glad that I had heard them, it helped me to understand him a little more.

I was certain that a new day had already dawned and left while I sat there, keeping a cool rag on his head and listening to his mumbling. I had started nodding off while still sitting next to him but was brought quickly back to the present when he spoke my name. I struggled to hear what he said. I leaned down close to him to hear him better.

"Christine. I . . . love . . . Christine."

I laid down fully next to him, curling into his cold body. I didn't mind it know. Not know that I understood what I had been feeling all along. I was careful not to touch the bandages that I had covering his wounds, but I still had my hand lay across his chest and my head cradled on his shoulder. Tears of every emotion finally silently slid down my face.

"I love you too, Erik."

And with that, I fell asleep.

* * *

I hadn't meant to fall asleep. Perhaps if I hadn't, things would have been different. I might have heard the hushed voices creeping closer, or even the sound of booted footfalls. I might have seen the dark shadows creeping ever closer to where Erik and I lay. I might have been able to try to conceal our hiding place, or move us somewhere possibly more safe. I might have been able to defend us, or at least put up somewhat of a fight. I might have done many things had I only stayed away. But I hadn't, and so my first clue was being suddenly yanked from the bed like a rag doll.

The smell of alcohol and unwashed clothes assailed my nose, but that wasn't what I noticed first. I saw maybe six of them, all standing around, looking carefully about to check for dangers. Their uniforms were different than any I had ever seen. They almost looked just thrown together.

I struggled against the iron grip that held me closely to a firm chest. I managed to get one hand free and with a scream raised it above my head, intending to inflict damage, but my wrist was caught easily. I was spun around, my arm twisted against my back. The man holding me forced it upwards and I felt a shock of pain rip through my shoulder. He didn't have to tell me that without much more pressure he would snap my bones.

"Feisty little thing, aren't you, my sweet?" an evil voice crooned in my ear. "And such a pretty little thing, too. I wonder if you taste as delicious as you look." His tongue flicked out to trace my neck and I screamed, feeling my shoulder nearly wrenched from its socket as I tried desperately to get away from him.

He shoved me towards another man and I felt rough hands grabbing me everywhere. I screamed again and was rewarded with a harsh, stinging slap across my face. I stared, open mouthed, wondering what had just happened. The first man yanked my hair back, forcing my head up, but I looked away, anywhere but at his wretched face.

"You will learn your place, little one."

The man now holding me whispered in my ear, "If you enjoy opening your mouth so much, we'll give you something to fill it besides your screams."

I fought the bile rising in my throat as I realized what his words meant.

"Rousseou," the first man, the one that had slapped me, said, "how fares our prisoner?"

I thought at first that he had meant me, but the question didn't make sense. I struggled to turn around in the direction of the bed, the direction the voice had been asking. My eyes fixed on his face with hatred as he leaned down to the statue still figure covered in bandages.

Two words ripped my life in half.

Two words has never been so powerful.

The man looked up, his gaze meeting my own, though his answer was directed to another.

"He's dead."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I know! I know! It's a terrible habit of mine. Be kind. Be patient. Like I said, if you will leave this phic because you're so pissed, review it with 'STB' and I'll write you and 'spill the beans'. It'll make it less interesting, but if it will keep you reading, it's a sacrifice I'll make. **

**Darcimkire mentioned that she didn't think Erik would die from "bruises and wounds". Let me clarify. The three gashes along Erik's chest are from a dagger. Because this is from the POV of Christine, we don't really get to see the actual fight. I picture it went something along the lines of Jacques stabbed Erik and then pulled the knife downward (or upward. Either way). They're not scratch marks, they are stab wounds, and apparently fatal ones at that. Also, we don't know how long Erik had been bleeding before he managed to make it back to the lair, he could have been stumbling around the catacombs for a while. **

**Anywho, that's my little explanation. Please don't hate me. **

_**Chapter Four**_

For the first time since being harshly from the bed, I forced myself to move my eyes from the man leaning over Erik to my angel's face. His lips were tinted blue and his face was bone white. People had said he looked like a living corpse before. How wrong they were! I looked desperately for any sign of a rise and fall from his chest, for fresh crimson stain against the bandages that would show his heart was still forcing blood through his veins, but there was nothing. He was perfectly still.

There was a piercing scream that made me want to cover my ears. It took my mind a few moments to register that it was coming from my own lips. There was no slap to my face, no attempt to even silence me. On the contrary, it seemed as though they were all thoroughly enjoying the sound of my tortured heart shattering into an infinite number of pieces as I felt myself literally die inside. The restraining hands did not hold me up as I fell to the ground like a discarded piece of rag and huddled there whimpering.

I was so lost in my own agony that I did not hear the ensuing conversation.

"Well, it looks like Jacques managed to get a few good shots in before he died. Pity, I wanted to kill the beast myself. How many men have been lost to this freak?" I faintly recognized the authoritative tone as the man that had hit me. Though the answering voice I had not heard before.

"Thirty-six, that we know of, commander. But there are still seven men unaccounted for."

"Look, you cowards!" the commander bellowed to his men. "Your 'ghost' that you are all so terrified of is no more than a man with a hideous face."

The commander observed the bandages I had wrapped carefully over Erik's stab wounds and he poked and prodded him, feeling for a pulse and inspecting the damage. He came and knelt before me.

Grabbing my chin he lifted my face to look at his wretched face. I knew tear stains still covered my cheeks, and I hadn't washed off the blood, not thinking, and it had matted in my hair. I must have only been a few shades darker than Erik's complexion, with purple shadows still under my eyes, it was a wonder he could even recognize I was human, the pathetic sounds forcing themselves from my trembling lips were hardly coherent. I refused to look him in the eyes, I kept my gaze turned away, my face still contorted in agony.

"I must commend you on your skills as a nurse. I think, perhaps, that we have a job that would be suited to your . . . abilities," he said as his eyes glanced over places they had no business going. I shuddered until his lustful, probing look.

He stood and turned to his men. "Take what's of worth, burn the rest . . . and throw the body in the lake."

I screamed again, but it didn't matter. I made a vain attempt to reach for Erik, trying to shield him with my body from the disgrace they wanted to inflict upon him further. Would they not grant him peace even in death? I was caught easily by one of the men and hauled closely to him. I watched horrifically as they dragged Erik from his death bed. My legs would no longer support my slight weight and the soldier was forced to sling me over his shoulder like a limp stage prop and carry me out.

Darkness started creeping into my mind and I was willingly giving in. The last thing I heard as my mind shut down was the sound of Erik's body being tossed into the water and the high-fives and words of congratulations being exchanged.

I awoke some time later to frantic, gentle shaking and whispered female voices. I fought to stay in the darkness of my mind, but could not force myself to return to the peace of blissful unawareness.

When I opened my eyes and they finally adjusted to the dark room I found myself in, I saw three worried faces looking into my own.

"Where am I?" I managed to say, trying – and failing – to not let the panic in my voice show through. I still wasn't completely sure that I was not dreaming. I looked around at the stone walls of the small room. There were three blankets spread on the floor that matched the one I realized I was also laying on. The dark green material was course and scratched at the skin on my bare arms.

"You're in what used to be a storehouse," a tender voice explained. "Now it's the make-shift hospital for the commune. You were brought here nearly an hour ago. We were afraid that you would not wake up."

I sat up and it felt as though my head had split in two. I gasped and put a hand to my forehead.

"Yes, I suspect that will hurt for a while," a woman who looked to be in her forties commented. "They dropped you rather harshly."

"Who are you?" I asked, fighting a wave of dizziness.

"I am Patrice," the woman replied. "And this is Marie and my daughter, Isabella," she said, gesturing towards the two other women. "You are fortunate to be here."

"Fortunate?" I echoed. "How is it fortunate that I am here?" I asked as I continued to observe my surroundings. I could hardly believe that this could ever be a good place to find one's self in.

"As I said, this is the hospital; there is a building not far from here that they keep the other women in. The women they . . . they use for their pleasure," Patrice said as a strangled sob caught in her throat.

"That is where my sister is," the one that Patrice had called Isabella said sadly. "Mama used to be a nurse, so they thought she would be helpful to take care of their wounded men. She convinced them that she couldn't do it on her own and needed my sister and I to help, but they only allowed me to come and took Riena to the other building." She turned away to hide the tears in her eyes.

I looked more closely at Isabella. She was somewhat plain with dark eyes and tousled brown hair that fell haphazardly around her pale, angular face. She reminded me of a chorus girl that used to stay in Meg's and I's dormitory. There was a childlike quality to her voice in the way that she almost seemed to babble. Marie had the dark eyes as well, but dirty blond hair that was cut short so it lay against her shoulders. Her face bore a hint of natural roundness to it, making me think that under normal circumstances, she had probably been slightly more curvaceous, but in an attractive way.

"I'm nineteen," Isabella said, apparently try to make conversation, a strange thought given the circumstances. I couldn't understand why she was staring at me so strangely and blathering. "Marie is twenty-three, the same age as Riena, my sister. How old are you?"

"Seventeen," I said, feeling decidedly younger. The thought of my age made me remember my birthday and I began to convulse with sobs.

Patrice shook her head sadly and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. "What is your name, dear?"

I thought for a moment, not an easy thing to accomplish with your brain swirling around in an abyss of pain. I struggled for an answer. I didn't even know who I could trust. Could it be that these women were a trap to try to see if I was worth anything?

"Who is your father?" she asked instead.

The puzzled expression I gave Patrice must have shown what an odd question I found that to be for she found the need to rephrase.

"What home were you taken from?" She must have assumed I was a serving girl of some kind, but it still wasn't making sense in my mind.

"I have lived in the Opera Populaire since I was only seven. Both of my parents died long ago," I replied, unsure of why she was asking such a strange question. If she was trying to distract me from my grief it was only working mildly.

The three woman exchanged glances at each other and Patrice turned to me with a pitied expression on her face. "Dear child, no one has lived there for nearly four months. It has been used by the commune since."

"I know. I lived under it. In the fifth cellar with . . ." I suddenly found it hard to continue as the night's events caught up with me. My throat constricted and before the sobs overtook me, I managed to finish the sentence. ". . . with Erik."

Patrice wrapped her arms tighter around me and let me cry into her shoulder as Marie and Isabella each put a hand on my arm to comfort me.

"Your husband?"

I'm not sure who asked, I was too busy trying to control my sobbing. I shook my head.

"No, my . . . my fiancé," I said, as the word rolled strangely off my tongue. I had never really thought of Erik as my fiancé, but he had given me a ring and I had promised to stay with him, so it meant the same . . . didn't it?

Any other circumstances and I am sure that saying I lived with my fiancé would have caused an uproar of protests of how improper it was, but the old ways were gone and now, such a trivial thing did not seem to matter.

They let me cry for a while longer and when I had finally calmed myself enough to only allow for a few tears to still stream down my face. I wanted to tell them everything. Despite the fact I knew little more than their names, I found myself wanting to pour my heart out to them. All I told them was what I felt safe the commune would already know. That to keep me safe Erik had hidden me in the fifth cellar. I felt safe to tell them Erik's name since no one outside Madame Giry and Meg would know who Erik was. Everyone else just knew him by his various villainous names.

"So it was your fiancé that kept killing their men," Marie said, speaking for the first time with a hint of an Irish accent. "I had begun to wonder if it was indeed a ghost. I heard the men speak of it. They said those who were killed did not even see him. Only a very small handful of men caught a glimpse of him. They say he moved as a shadow."

I nodded my head. That was definitely Erik. How strange it was to talk of him in the past tense. It didn't seem real. He was Erik. The Phantom of the Opera. He couldn't die. He was too strong. It couldn't be real. I collapsed again into Patrice's arms and wept until I fell asleep.

It felt like a very short time later that I awoke to a man's voice telling us to get ready for incoming injured. I rose quickly, still unsure what was happening. Patrice nodded her head to a bowl of something on the ground that I only discovered to be food because of the other three woman eating bowls of the same thing as though it were the most delectable thing on earth. I shook my head.

"I'm not very hungry," I said

Isabella looked at me with hopeful eyes.

"You may have it if you wish," I said with a nod and she took mine and scooped some of the gray mush into Patrice and Marie's bowls before finishing the rest.

Patrice was talking through mouthfuls of food. "I tried to clean the blood off your face as much as possible, but we're going to have to do something with your hair."

I touched a hand to my face absently, finally realizing why Isabella had looked at me so oddly. My hair was definitely not high on my list of things I cared about at that moment.

As soon as the woman were done, we left to hurry down a flight of stairs that led from the small room that we were apparently supposed to live in into a large room. I had never seen a room so big. If you took out all the walls of the Opera Populair, the floor space would be about half of what I was seeing. There were rows and rows of small cots with white sheets and the same dark green blankets that lined nearly the entire floor. About a quarter of the beds were occupied and two women were wondering between them, checking on the men before moving along. Isabella was doing her best to explain everything over her shoulder at me as we hurried along.

"They bring in the wounded men and put them on the cots. We just got in a whole batch of supplies, but don't use too many of them or we will run out. If you don't know what to do, yell for mama and she will help you."

I glanced around to be sure no soldiers were listening before I spoke.

"Why don't you let them die?"

Isabella turned to fix me with a look of pure shock. She lowered her voice to a matching whisper. "Because if too many men die, that house that they put the other women in will start to look like heaven compared to the hell they will put you through."

I nodded my head dumbly in understanding. In other words, if they die, you'll wish you were dead.

Patricia led us to a room off in a corner of the massive storehouse/hospital. It had been transformed into a washroom with basins lining the walls, the water didn't look very clean, but apparently that didn't matter. The three women bent over to scrub their hands, though no soap was present. There were a pair of scissors resting on a shelf with some other fairly dull looking utensils. I picked them up and without letting myself think about it, raised them to my head and began hacking away at my once beautiful hair.

The three women stared at me in shock, but I didn't care. I cut it until it was nearly at my scalp. I was sure I looked like a boy now.

"Well I hadn't quite meant that you needed to cut it _that_ short," Patricia said, looking anxiously at the shears in my hand. I found a stray lock of hair that I had missed and with one quick snap it fell to my feet with the rest of my hair. I looked at it detachedly. I supposed it could have been a metaphor for cutting away the last thing that made me Christine. I didn't want to be Christine anymore. I didn't want to be anything.

"Dear?" Patrice's voice was soothing. She was trying to distract me, probably afraid of what I would do with the scissors. "What do you want us to call you?" I noticed that she hadn't actually asked for my name. She probably assumed that I was trying to be safe and I appreciated that somewhere in the back of my mind, but I couldn't register it very well.

"Elyssa," I said with a dead voice, thinking of my first triumph at the opera. Erik's cunning had born a way for me to break from the role of chorus girl and erupt as Paris' new promising talent. It had been in the role of Elyssa that I had found the strength to see my own potential. I hid myself in her and she had shown me a bright new world where all that Erik had promised me could come true.

I had to force myself to once again hide and call on a strength not my own to live through what trials lay before me. I could not survive as Christine. I would lock her away somewhere deep in my heart where it did not hurt so much.

I placed the rusted instrument of my hair's destruction back on the shelf and stepped out of the pile of my brown locks and shed the skin of the shy, unsure girl and became the strong, independent woman who would live my life for me. Christine was dead now. Elyssa would rule in her stead. Perhaps one day I would return as a more wise, worldly Christine, but that day would be another turning point far from now. For as long as I was to carry out my sentence as a nurse for the enemy, I would not reveal to anyone my true identity.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you Thank you Thank you to those you have continued on! I love you all!**

_Chapter Five_

As long as I live, I will never forget what I saw that day. Gruesome, gaping wounds, severed limbs, skin that had been burned to charcoal, and the screams. I knew that I would never have a night that I did not hear those screams. I had no idea a person could bleed so much and still live. I was repulsed and frustrated. I tried desperately to help the men that they brought, but every time I looked at one of them, a fury burned in my soul and I wanted nothing more than the pleasure of watching them die. It didn't matter what they looked like, or how badly they were injured, I saw each one in my mind killing Erik.

I felt a hatred the likes of which I had never felt before. It consumed me and changed me into a person I did not know. I was no longer an innocent, young, naive chorus girl. I was a furious woman who wanted revenge for what they had done to me and the ones I loved.

I wasn't sure how I managed it, but I made it through the first day with only one man dying while I stood over and watched. Patrice gave me the easy ones to attend to; most having just minor burns or deep cuts. I bandaged them the best I could. Isabella showed me the way to wrap the injuries to staunch the blood flow the best. I learned more in that first day then I had in all my years in school.

The one unfortunate soul that did die under my watch had already lost a lot of blood before he came. He didn't have a chance, but I didn't even try. He was young, maybe just a few years older than myself. I didn't stop to think about what lie had made him think that what he was doing was right. I didn't want to know that he was someone's son. I didn't care about the mother or wife that would wait forever for the soldier that would never come home. I stood over him with nothing but abject hatred, feeling a strange sense of twisted happiness when he began to make odd gurgling sounds in the back of his throat, like he had swallowed water.

A little bit of my human nature that hated to see things dying had me turning and walking away just before the convulsions started.

I went about with the rest of the injured, doing for them what I could, trying not to think. If I kept my mind busy elsewhere, hopefully my hands would know what to do on their own, but how was I supposed to justify saving a life that was trying to kill my own neighbors? Someone who would kill me if I had been found on the street?

When I was sure that the young soldier was dead, I did as I had been instructed and found the two soldiers in charge of removing the dead bodies and informed them. For a moment I was worried that I would be in trouble that I had let one die, but they just seemed to sigh and shuffle over to remove their comrade. I didn't know what they did with the dead bodies. I didn't want to know. I imagined they would have to make a mass grave, but where they could do that in a city like Paris I had no idea.

At the end of the day, I climbed the stairs with just enough energy to not fall backwards into Marie. I was asleep before my head touched the thin, ragged pillow. My dreams were filled of haunting images and sounds. I dreamed that I was standing over the young soldier again and watching him die, only to realize too late that it was Erik. More than once I awoke that night trying to stifle a scream of terror.

After the forth time of such dreams, I could not fall back asleep. I sat on the floor with my back to the wall and my knees pulled up tight to my chest and listened to the peaceful rhythm of the three other women's breathing. Patrice was the first to wake a short while later.

"Are you allright, child?" she asked, concern etched on her face. I couldn't help but notice how she spoke almost like Madame Giry. She called me child, but then again, I was.

"I couldn't sleep," I told her quietly.

She nodded her head sadly.

"Will the dreams ever go away?" I asked

Patrice sighed. "Not completely, no," she said honestly, "They will always be with you, but they won't be as bad as time goes on."

There was a nice silence that fell as Patrice let me think about her words before she spoke again.

"You did very well for your first day. The last girl they brought in here didn't do so well. She was serving as a maid in a wealthy family's home. They were taken in the middle of the night and the entire family was killed in the streets. The very day she arrived here, they brought in a man who had been shot. He would have lived, but when she recognized him as the man that had killed the family, she . . . she took one of our surgical knives and . . ."

I held up my hand to stop her. She didn't continue; she didn't need to. I got the idea perfectly clear.

"Elyssa, I tell you that because there will be times that you want to kill the very men that you are supposed to save. You have to be stronger than that. You can't look at them as the enemy." I thought about the soldier. Had he been so far beyond repair that I couldn't have saved him? I would never know because I had never tried.

"Love your enemies and pray for them," I quoted in a whisper, remembering a Sunday school teaching of so many years ago.

"Well, I don't know about loving them, or praying for their souls," Patrice said with a fleeting smile that too quickly turned serious. "But you must be strong. You can't be afraid. Can you do that?"

I was suddenly transported to another time as those words replayed in my head, but it was a different person to say them . . .

"_Christine, listen to me. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise. I would die before I let them touch you. You must not be scared; I need you to be strong. Can you do that Christine?"_

I nodded my head slowly and swallowed over the lump that had risen in my throat. I would be strong, but not for me. I would be strong because of Erik.

I was lost deep in my thoughts and did not even notice the door to our room opening and an elderly woman enter with a tray.

"Come, Elyssa," Patrice's gentle words urged me back to reality. I looked up and saw the lady leaving and Patrice setting the bowls gently on the ground. "You should eat, you didn't have anything yesterday."

At the mention of food, my stomach growled angrily, but I shook my head. I had promised to be strong, but that didn't mean that I didn't welcome death. With Erik dead, there seemed to be no point to my existence anymore.

Marie and Isabella were starting to wake up and Patrice came to my side and laid a motherly hand on my arm.

"You have to eat."

"I'm not hungry," I lied.

"Please, Elyssa, eat it for me?"

I shook my head, my stubborn streak showing through.

She was silent for a moment as the other girls rose and began to eat their breakfast.

"Then," she said hesitantly, "would you eat it for your Erik?"

My heart ached longingly at the mention of his name and I fought the tears that sprang to my eyes.

"That's not fair," I said, my head swimming with what she had said.

"If it gets you to eat, I won't apologize. Starving yourself will help no one. Do you really think your finance intended to give his life to protect you, only to have to whittle away to nothing and die? You must be strong."

Isabella handed my bowl to Patrice who handed it in turn to me. I took it with trembling hands and looked to Patrice who nodded her head in encouragement.

Slowly, I lifted the spoon to my lips. The look of revulsion on my face must have been amusing because Isabella and Marie were giggling silently.

"Do not worry," Isabella said with a smile, "You will come to love it."

I managed to eat a grand total of three spoonfuls before I had had enough.

"Well, at least you've had some," Patrice said warmly. "We best be going. The night nurses will be needing their time to rest."

"The night nurses?" I echoed, trying to swallow away the taste in my mouth. "Are they the two women I saw yesterday?"

"Yes," Patrice said sadly. "There used to be three; Ingrid was sent away the day before you arrived."

"Look on the bright side," said Isabella "Today will not be as busy as yesterday. It's mostly just re-bandaging and dressing wounds."

I tried to be encouraged by Isabella's words, but they brought little comfort.

We all made our way silently down the stairs into the huge room. Looking down on it, I saw that where there had been only a quarter of the cots filled before, they were now almost all full. I had not noticed the day before, I suppose because we stayed so busy.

We put on our aprons and washed our hands before heading off to relieve the night nurses.

So was our routine everyday for the following weeks. I did my job without much to say. I saw men die and men that should not have lived walk out of the doors. I became detached and gratefully allowed the numbness to seep through me. I was a heaven sent relief from the pain. I didn't care if they lived or died, my goal was to get to the end of the day. I never thought I would feel anything again. I didn't want to feel again. How could I feel anything positive about the soldiers? I took care of them, but I did not care for them.

Once again I was proved wrong.

I was going about my normal routine when they brought them in. There had been an explosion. At least that was what I was told. We were quite a ways away from the actual fighting. I suppose that was a blessing. I had no idea how far away we were from the Opera House, or even if we were still in Paris, I was unconscious for the trip and honestly didn't care.

Most of the men were dead by the time we rushed to their aid. There were three men out of the twelve they brought that we were able to help. Marie, Isabella and I each took one while Patrice attempted to revive the others with no success.

I had steadily become better acquainted with more serious injuries and though I had no formal training, I became able to help with more than just the burn victims and the mildly injured. Patrice had said one time to Isabella when she thought I was sleeping that my depression made my brain shut down and run on learned instincts. It was a horrible way to live, but for the present situation she confessed to her daughter that she was envious of my ability to shut down.

I didn't think of it as depression, my understanding on depression what that you felt sad all the time, but I didn't feel anything. My brain no longer registered anything but what seemed absolutely necessary to survive.

Even when I would hear Patrice and Isabella crying about Riena late at night, I couldn't feel more than a hollow pity for them.

I didn't sleep more than an hour or two at night anymore. I couldn't afford to. The dreams I had - well, nightmares was more accurate - made the pain too great. I would see Erik's face, dead eyes staring at me. That's not how I wanted to remember him, but that was the only image of him my dreams could conjure.

As I looked down on the man I was to help, my breath caught momentarily in my throat. His entire right side was burned horribly, while the left side was left mostly untouched. Even in his seared soldier's uniform, I could not help but be instantly reminded of Erik and pain shot through me like a hundred daggers. Though the burns had removed much of his hair I could see that he naturally had hair as black as a November sky at midnight. He was tall, his feet hanging over the end of the bed a little. One of his boots was missing and I could see with relief that the burns did not cover his entire right side, but just down to his torso. His skin was white with the loss of blood, causing him to look even more like Erik. I blocked out the image that had tears threatening to fall and immediately went to work.

His burns were extreme, some of his skin was blackened and peeling like onion skin. I needed to stop his bleeding, but if I wasn't careful, I could pull his skin completely away from the bone.

Mercifully, he was unconscious. I didn't think there would be enough morphine left to take much edge of the pain. The supply truck hadn't come for some time and it was feared that it had been attacked. I wasn't sure if I should feel glad about this or not. It meant that the Paris soldiers got medical supplies, but it put us in a very precarious position. I bandaged him as best as I could, having to peel some of the dead skin away, breathing very carefully so I didn't get sick. It was a long and tedious process and I did not leave his side for nearly two hours.

Perhaps it was the likeness to Erik that had me whispering words of comfort in his ear as I carefully stitched a cut across his forehead. They were not elegant words, nor was I pleading, I merely found myself telling him that he would be okay and to hold on. I'm not sure why I did. I could have let him die and would not have been at risk of being punished because he was already so badly injured. I suppose it was because of his sudden likeness to Erik that I did what I did.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So sorry loves! Things got a little crazy between work and school that I ... well, forgot is a strong word. Let's just say it wasn't at the forefront of my memory banks to post the next chapter. If I should have this lapse of memory again, I shall do my best to rectify the situation as soon as possible. Please bear with me.**

_Chapter Six_

The twelve men they had brought in were the only new arrivals, so the burned soldier became my top priority. Most of my other patients were past anything more I could do to help, just needing time to heal. As soon as I was done checking on them - twenty-three in all - I returned to the burned soldier (number twenty four under my watch) and double checked his bandages.

Twenty-four wasn't much to take care of next to Isabella's thirty. Patrice had the fewest because hers were the most critical. Marie was down to just eighteen to take care of. A number that was dwindling a little every day, and not because they were getting better, but because she seemed to be having a more difficult time keeping up with any larger amount.

The monotony of the tasks caused the hours to drag on a normal day, but because I had enough to pre-occupy myself with, even if it was just doublechecking bandages and administering medications. So it actually took me by surprise when at the end of the day, Patrice came to tell me it was time for the night nurses to take over. I was sitting on the cot next to the burned soldier, checking his bandages for the third time. I tried to tell myself to stand up, to walk up to my bed and let sleep take me, but my legs would not let me. Somehow I knew that if I did, he would die sometime in the night.

"You go ahead. I'm going to stay here for a while longer."

Patrice looked at me with a sort of shocked and yet amused expression on her face.

"Elyssa, you need your sleep. He'll be fine," she said, nodding to the stone still soldier.

"No, I need to stay with him. I can't explain it, Patrice; I look at him and I see Erik."

Patrice paused. "That is a very unstable place to put yourself."

When I seemed unmoved by her words she knelt down beside me. "Honey," she said, taking my hand and waiting until I met her gaze. "he's not Erik."

"I know." My reply was cold, I was trying to make the numbness come back, but it was slowly beginning to creep away the longer I stayed near him. I would regret it later, but I couldn't force myself to care.

I could tell she was worried about what would happen if he didn't make it. It would feel like I had lost Erik all over again. Even if he lived, he would wake and I would be forced to realize that he wasn't Erik after all and it would be like losing him again anyway. Live or die, I would loose. The only way I could keep my little illusion alive was if this man stayed in his current condition indefinitely.

Patrice sighed when she saw I was unmovable and pulled a chair over for me to sit in before joining the other women. I sat gratefully and smiled at Patrice's motherly manner. She shook her head and mumbled something under her breath.

Unsurprisingly, I was still by his side when Marie, Patrice and Isabella came back down the next morning. My soldier did have a hard night, as I knew he would. Twice in the night he had stopped breathing. If I hadn't been studiously watching the every movement of his chest I would have missed it. The night nurse would have assuredly missed it.

"Your breakfast is waiting for you in the kitchen."

I looked up to see Marie standing over me. I had nodded off only once or twice and was quite sure that I must have heard her wrong. Marie saw my blank expression and smiled.

"Patrice explained that you felt the need to stay and watch over one of the men instead of eating. The rather intimidating soldier that cooks our food thought that since you were being so dutiful he would let you still eat. Though he did tell me to warn you that the next time you miss breakfast he won't hold it for you."

I made a rather unladylike snort that caused Marie to smile again. "I'll watch over him while you go eat of you would like." I nodded and told her thank you and left Marie to watch over him as I went to eat.

I never thought I would look forward to the mush they called food, but I learned to enjoy it and eventually to love it, just as Patrice said. The cook had given me an extra serving and I ate it hurriedly. I returned a short while later with as full a stomach as possible (under the circumstances) to find Patrice, instead of Marie sitting next to the soldier, checking his bandages. She smiled at me when she saw me approach.

"You've done a fine job attending to him."

"Thank you," I managed to reply.

"His name is Richard."

I looked at Patrice oddly.

"After you decided to stay with him, I thought that perhaps I should find out his name. Commander Richard Bruence."

"Commander?" I repeated dumbly. I don't know why this was such a strange thing to hear. Perhaps it was because I had been able to allow myself the sweet denial that he was anything other than a man who needed my help that to hear his title forced me to realize that he was fighting for the wrong side.

"Good heavens, child. Are you alright?" Patrice asked with concern at my distant expression.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you, Patrice." I said with a forced smile. I could see in her face she didn't believe me, but she left to tend to the other men.

As the hours of one day blended into the next until another week crept by, I stayed faithfully by Richard's side, though now I did leave him to sleep as I was finally content that he would be alright in my absence. None of the other nurses would go near him once I had removed his bandages from his face and most of his right side. He was healing well, but he would be forever horribly scarred. One side was already beginning to become pinched as the skin pulled with the scars.

I looked to the fast approaching day that he would wake up with apprehension and fear. I did not enjoy the thought of his reaction when he saw how he looked. I still talked to him, even hummed little arias every once in a while when I was sure no one else would hear, but I did not sing. I hadn't sung since the night that Erik and I- I didn't want to think about it. Singing was too much, but humming didn't hurt as badly. In fact, it felt a little nice to feel my vocal chords vibrate after so long of neglect.

Every so often another soldier came to check on him, but when the word soon spread about how badly he had been burned, no one wanted to come.

When he started to stir and mutter things in his sleep, I finally confessed my fears to Marie, with whom I had become quite close to, about his reaction to his appearance. She looked at me with an odd expression of pity and spoke with a wisdom that most young women her age did not posses. "Elyssa, you cannot stop the inevitable. He _will_ wake up, and I dare say that it could be at any time. If you can look upon his face without fear or revulsion, then maybe he can learn to as well."

I nodded my head and turned to leave.

"Elyssa," Marie said before I could go. I turned back around to look at her. She seemed to be struggling whether or not to say something. "I . . . never mind." She finished hurriedly.

"Marie, what is it? You can tell me. It's okay."

She shook her head, the inward battle continuing. I wondered what in the world could be causing her so much trouble to say.

"It's nothing, just a foolish question that is not my place to ask . . ."

"You can ask me anything. I won't get angry," I promised, though I was careful not to promise that I would tell the truth. Some things were better left suppressed.

"Well, it's just that . . . with Commander Bruence . . . his face . . . no one else . . ."

I spared her the rest of the question. I knew what it was she was asking.

I sighed. "Erik, he . . ." I found myself getting choked up talking about him and I lowered my eyes to avoid Marie's gaze. "his face was also burned," I finished in a whisper.

"But... as badly as Commander Bruence's? Surely no one could be as bad as that."

I smiled sadly despite myself. How could I tell her? Thankfully I didn't have to think up an answer as Isabella called to her and she left me to attend to a soldier that was seizing violently. Patrice and Isabella were already doing their best on him and I knew I would only be in the way if I tried to help too.

I turned and walked down the aisles of wounded men, checking on their injuries without word and moving along.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle?"

I turned to the young soldier that had beckoned me. A deep cut on his forehead that I had stitched a total of three times now was dripping a steady line of blood down his face. I sighed and shook my head with exasperation. I sat down next to him on the cot and took a cloth from my apron to dab at the blood.

"James, you really have to stop scratching. It will never heal otherwise."

The young man smiled. He looked too young to be in a war. "I know."

"Well if you know, then why on earth do you keep at it?" I said as I pressed the cloth hard over the gash, making him wince.

"How else am I going to get a beautiful woman to dote on me?" he said with a twinkle in his deep green eyes.

"I can think of a great many more ways that are much less painful." I probably would have laughed at him, but it had been so long since I had any happiness that I had forgotten what my laugh even sounded like. I stopped the bleeding and inspected his cut. "Well, at least it looks like I won't have to re-stitch it."

"I'll have to try harder next time."

I took out my roll of gauze and wrapped it firmly around his head several times.

"Good luck tearing them now," I said confidently and started to get up when he caught my arm. His grip was firm, but not harsh.

"Elyssa?"

"What is it, are you planning on breaking your other leg to stay in here longer and you want to know the best way to do it? You know, the point is to leave this place eventually, not to see if you can stay here the longest," I said, placing my hand on my hip and giving him a stern look. I liked James despite who he fought for. He told me once that he hadn't had a choice. His father had forced him into it. He was trying to make a run for it he was propelled through the air by a bomb exploding nearby. No one but him and myself knew.

He had come not quite a week ago and wouldn't let me pass by without making me stop to talk. How could I resist his carrot red hair and freckles, giving away his Irish roots as plain as the cast he wore that went up past his knee.

He laughed but then grew serious as he looked me square in the eyes. "When you look at me, who do you see?"

"I see a young man who if he knew what kind of work we were going to have to do on that leg to get him walking again would not want to see me ever again," I said, avoiding his actual question.

He almost smiled, but he would not be swayed. "That's not what I meant and you know it. When you look at me, or any other soldier in here, you don't see us. It's like you're looking at someone else. Who is he?"

I had been silently praying that he wouldn't ask that very question. I sighed, knowing that I could not dodge it. He had seen what I had not expected him to. Sure, when I looked at him, I saw the boy who was struggling to be a man, forced to grow up too soon, but he saw the truth. When I looked at him, or any other soldier, not matter how stark the contrast, I always saw Erik.

"Elyssa?"

I looked him dead in the eyes and lied. "My father."

"Was he killed in the war?" He sounded guilty despite claiming to have never even fired his gun in the war.

"No, he died when I was seven."

My answer seemed to satisfy him and he relinquished his hold on my arm and I gratefully left him to finish checking on the other men.

Richard was mumbling in his sleep again when I returned to his side. His brain was fighting reality and the dream world. I knew it wouldn't be long once he started to jerk about on the cot. I instinctively took his hand in my own, careful to make sure it was his left hand as the right was still badly burned and wrapped so much that it looked like he had a club instead of a hand. He seemed to calm down slightly after that. I tried to set his hand down gently and leave, but his fingers unexpectedly closed around mine in a vise grip. It was painful until I quit struggling, then he seemed to loosen his grip some. I sighed in defeat and sat down next to him, the chair beside his bed did not move. No one would come near enough to him to try to remove it.

With all the horrible injuries everyone saw on a daily basis, I thought it strange that they would fear someone like Richard. It wasn't as though he was much more disfigured than some of the other soldiers.

Patrice had tried to explain to me that it was because most with that extensive of burns did not survive combined with the fact that the other side of his face was almost flawless, with the exception of the scar on his forehead. It just gave too stark a contrast and made him look like a monster with half a human face sewed on. I thought it made some sense, but I still thought it ridiculous.

After an hour or so Patrice, Isabella and Marie went to bed. I knew Richard would wake soon so I stayed by his side. Some time later, while I was trying not to fall asleep, his eyes fluttered open. I sat still and watched him blink a few times as his eyes tried to focus.

He must have become aware that I still held his hand in my own because he looked in my direction. I could see his eyes had a glassy look to them. Patrice had warned me about this.

"Who's there? I can't see anything." His voice was deep, much deeper than I had imagined. There was a very rough quality to it. It was exactly the sound that a commander would have, but I had been mostly successful to try to not think of him like that.

I sighed but I'm not sure if it was out of relief or sadness. "My name is Elyssa. You are in a hospital. You were in an accident. A bomb exploded." I spoke softly but steadily. He needed to know what happened, but there was no point in saying it harshly as some people believed helped the soldier to accept it faster.

"Why can I not see anything?" His voice was not frightened, it was like I was an underling that was reporting on the events of the day.

"You were injured very badly. Your sight should return to you in time. It's actually just the one eye, but apparently eyes are sympathetic. If one eye goes blind, the other one usually follows suit."

"How long have I been here?"

"A little over a week."

"Have you stayed with me the whole time?" he asked, his voice changing to a more casual tone which I considered to be odd under the circumstances. I let go of his hand but he seemed reluctant to do the same. Now that he was awake, it would be too hard to convince myself to pretend it was Erik laying there. I knew it was coming, I just hadn't wanted it to come this soon.

"No, there have been other nurses that have been attending to you as well." I said, trying to sound disconnected.

"You lie." I was caught entirely off guard by that simple statement. I looked at him indignantly as though he would be able to see the fire that was shooting from my gaze.

"I beg your pardon?" I said, hoping that I had just heard him wrong. "How would you know if I was lying or not when you have been asleep?"

He smiled slightly. "Because yours is the only voice I can remember. Just because I cannot see does not mean that I could not hear. You would talk to me. Sometimes I even heard you sing." His voice was ... amused? How could he find anything funny about this? He wouldn't be so smug when he saw his face.

I stood up, suddenly uncomfortable with the small distance between us. "You must be mistaken monsieur, I do not sing."

"I do not think I am mistaken, but that matters little right now. And my title is commander, if you do not mind," he said, still with an amused expression.

"Very well, _commander_," I said coldly. "I will leave you to heal yourself then." And with that, I stalked away fuming madly towards the stairs. I knew I would get no sleep, but I had no where else to go. The man had been awake for no more than two minutes and had already called me a liar and put me in my proper place. If he was strong enough to do that, he was strong enough to look after himself.

Marie couldn't sleep that night either, claiming she didn't feel well. She did look a little pale, once I stopped to look. She said it was because another soldier died today and she should have been able to save him. I tried to talk about that instead to distract me, but she didn't want to talk about it.

Reluctantly, I told her of the conversation I had with _Commander_ Bruence when woke up and how frustrated I was.

"Think who it is you are speaking about. Did you honestly believe that he would be a nice gentleman who would thank you for saving his life so that he may live as a freak?"

"Don't call him that," I replied automatically, though not harshly. "I don't really know what I expected. Certainly not that!"

Marie smiled in understanding. "Think on the bright side, now that he's awake, you don't have to look after him as much, and maybe you could give Isabella a hand. Poor thing. She was distracted and accidentally gave a soldier the wrong medication. He went into convulsion. He's better know, but she's terrified that they'll find out."

We always referred to the general position of authority as a collective. We weren't exactly sure who we were directly under as ranking officials came and went on a regular basis and weren't concerned with learning our names, just how many soldiers we could save.

I looked at Marie closely. She had been unusually quiet the past few days. I had been so preoccupied with my own distresses that I hadn't bothered to look at any one of my fellow impromptu nurses. In fact, once I started paying attention, I noticed Marie looked sicker than I had noticed before. She looked tired, worn out, so much older than her twenty-three years. There weren't exactly many mirrors around, but I guessed that I too had aged to look beyond my mere seventeen.

I hadn't seen my own relection since arriving at the hospital. My subconscious still imagined that I would look the same as before, but I wouldn't. I knew I would look thinner, even paler than before, maybe even with a hint of yellow to my skin. There were be such purple under my eyes that it would look like I had been hit between the eyes. My hair... my hair had grown out some, not nearly as thick and curly as before, but not yet stringy. It was just above my ears, Patrice having trimmed it just the other day. She had tried to more or less get it one length since my botched cutting job. I didn't mind it so short, though it was still so much shorter than I wanted it, or ever had it, but it certainly stayed out of my way, and was nice when there was so much running around that the room felt like a hundred degrees, despite the fact that the days had been getting colder.

I had lost track of when I was taken from the Opera House, it wasn't something I liked to think about, but if I had to guess, I'd say maybe a month or two. Maybe longer. Days blended into each other when you no longer had a purpose to living.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

For the whole of the next day I refused to see Richard. My stubborn pride was wounded and I didn't mind him suffering just a little. In fact it made me quite happy. I knew that he would not be hurting too badly, but perhaps if I ignored him for a day he would see how thankful he should be that I was even there to help. Even as I thought these things, my better half chastised me for it. I should help him regardless, but how could I?

I had intended it originally to only be a day that I ignored him, but when the next day drew to a close and I still did not go to check on him, Patrice cornered me.

"Elyssa, you need to check on Commander Bruence. His bandages need changed and he hasn't taken his medication."

"If you're so concerned about him, then why don't you go help him?" I snapped a little too harshly.

Patrice looked taken aback. "I have other patients that are in more desperate need," she said quickly before turning on her heal and walking away. She did have other patients, but I knew the truth. She just couldn't stand to look at him.

I knew she was right. He needed to be taken care of, but I couldn't yet convince myself to do it. I looked around the room, I now had only twenty men to care for, two others were able to leave finally. One left without so much as a backward glance, but the other thanked me awkwardly. I had nodded curtly and moved on. No one could expect me to be happy that he was leaving to go rejoin the rest of the disintegrating commune.

Now that the war was moving farther and farther away, they had started taking men to closer buildings. Most of the ones we still had only had small injuries and would be leaving soon or were very seriously injured and were still recovering.

The next morning I spotted Marie removing the stitches of a soldier that had been shot in the leg and I walked over to her. She had risen even before I had, getting an earlier jump on some of the soldiers that were supposed to be going home. She had just finished when she looked up and noticed me there. She smiled at me warmly.

"Marie, I never thanked you for the other night. You were very kind to listen to me."

"Think nothing of it." she said with a small smile. I had begun to think of Marie as a sister of sorts, my Meg of the hospital, though in physical appearance they couldn't be further from similar. I wondered vaguely if Meg and Madame Giry had escaped without worry. Of course they had, Erik had assured me they got out long before the attacks on the city began. That seem like eons ago now. I had trouble even remembering their faces.

"I hate to ask you for a favor, you've been such a help to me already…" I was taking advantage of her and I knew it. I felt badly before I even asked her, knowing that she wouldn't go back on her word, but I couldn't stand to go back to him.

"Anything." she said at once. Though if she had known what it was I was going to ask her to do, she would not have agreed so quickly.

"Commander Bruence needs his bandages changed and his medication."

Marie's face fell as my words sank in and I thought she might get sick. "Oh Elyssa, I don't think I could. His face . . ."

For a moment I got really was worried that she might be sick and I began to look around for a basin. She held out her hand to stop me, smiling shyly as it apparently passed, but her face was still drained of all color.

"Try not to look at his face. He can't see you."

"I don't know . . ." I knew she wanted to object, but the pleading look in my eyes must have shown how desperate I was for she slowly and reluctantly nodded her head.

"Thank you, Marie." I breathed, never more grateful for her. I knew if we kept talking about it she might change her mind, but I didn't want to just turn and leave.

"Are you sure you're okay? It looks like you've got a blister on your lip," I said, staring at her. I reached out to touch her cheek but she ducked away. "I'm fine. Really. I've got to finish with these patients though and I'm sure you need to do your own rounds." It wasn't like Marie to be so evasive, but I just nodded and turned to leave, worrying that I hurt our friendship.

It took her a few hours to work up the courage to finally go over to him. I was working with James, trying to help him practice walking with a lighter cast and cane as I watched her approach his cot before turning around, walking away for a few paces, then turn around again and walk resolutely to his bedside. I saw her cringe as she automatically looked at his face. She looked up to me and I nodded in encouragement.

I was too busy watching Marie that I nearly forgot about James who suddenly let out a yelp of pain. "I'm so sorry James, I wasn't paying attention. Let's get you back to bed, that's enough practice for today." I said as I helped him sit back down on his cot.

"You're doing much better today." I said cheerfully, trying not to notice Marie as she put up a brave effort to not wake the sleeping commander in her effort to remove his bandages. "You made it at least two steps father than yesterday, that's progress," I tried to sound encouraging, but it had only been two days.

"I just enjoy getting to put my arm around you," he said with a grin. "If I had known that I'd get to do that, I would have stopped trying to break my stitches and concentrated harder on walking." His smile was friendly, but I could see the sweat bead his forehead with the effort.

I might have laughed, but my attention was drawn to Marie as she let out a loud gasp. Commander Bruence had woken up and grabbed her arm. It seemed to be a reflex action for him. I didn't know if this sort of thing were common for people who suddenly found themselves blind, but it certainly frightening to have someone you thought to be asleep to grab you. I could sympathize with my poor Marie.

"Who are you and what are doing to me?" he barked loudly enough that even if I had not been only a few beds down I would have heard him fine.

"My- My name is Marie. I- I'm just trying to re-bandage your burns." Marie squeaked. "Please- please don't hurt me."

I flinched at the terror in her voice. I had scarred the poor girl for life and all because of my pride.

"Why on earth would you be afraid of me hurting you?" he asked with a much less harsh voice. "Why are you crying?" His voice was far from comforting, but at least it wasn't so cruel.

Marie sat bolt upright and looked straight at me. "I-I thought you couldn't see." She stammered, but I had the distinct feeling she wasn't addressing the commander.

"My sight's improving. Granted, all I can see is fuzzy shapes and outlines, but that's not how I knew you were crying. I can hear it in your voice."

"I can't do this," Marie said, still looking desperately at me. She wrenched her arm from his grasp and stood up. Tears cascaded from her eyes. "I'm sorry, I can't."

She turned and fled, running into Patrice's arms who stood in the supply room. "His face! I can't stand to look at him! He's hideous!" She sobbed aloud. The whole room became deathly silent and all eyes fixed on the dumbfounded commander who did not know why Marie was so petrified.

I watched in horror as he raised his hand to his face and felt the burned flesh. He swallowed hard and for a terrifying moment I thought he would scream, but he didn't. He lowered his hand and lay there without moving, his bandages only half done.

"Elyssa," James' voice was soft and low. I had forgotten completely that he was still there, watching my every move and facial expression. "you have to go to him."

I looked at him, shocked at his words. "What do you mean?"

"Enough of your pride!" he scolded. "He needs you."

"He doesn't need anyone but himself."

"He feels badly about what he said to you. He's really a nice guy once you get to know him."  
I looked at James bewildered. "How would you know?"

"I've talked to him. I can't look at him with the same indifference and acceptance that you can, but I can still talk to him. The night nurse enjoys letting me wander around in my wheelchair and we struck up a conversation. Just give him a chance. He really does feel badly about what he said to you."

I hung my head in shame. This young boy had the courage to speak to him when I did not. I looked at him and he winked. I nodded my head resignedly. Slowly i walked to his bed, making a mental not to speak the night nurse about letting James wander when he should be resting. They were down to just one night nurse now. They had been up to three at one point, but one was sent away for not being able to control herself and the other one just seemed to disappear one day. The commander in charge did nothing about it, so it was assumed by us nurses that she had been moved as well.

Richard did not hear me approach, so when I sat down next to him, he flinched and looked puzzled.

"It's me." I said simply, not even thinking that he might not know who 'me' was, but he seemed to instantly relax.

"Elyssa?" he asked as though he did not believe that it could possibly be me. I knew how he felt!

"Yes." I said, trying to keep my answers simply and my voice even. I started to finish the job Marie had started but he seemed to not care.

"Elyssa, I'm - I'm, you know, for what I said. I didn't mean to be so cruel."

I said nothing in return. It was obvious he was not used to apologizing, much less to a woman he hardly knew. I concentrated on his bandages and tried not to notice his eyes when he spoke.

"The other girl, Marie . . . she said . . . my face. What happened to me? What do I look like?"

I sighed. This was the last conversation I wanted to have with him just then. "I told you, you were in an accident and got burned."

"There's more you're not telling me. What is it?" he asked, once again showing his gift of being able to discern if I was telling the truth or not.

I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat. "The right side of your body is burned and your face is . . ." I searched desperately for the right word. "...unrecognizable."

"Why did you not let me die with a little dignity than let me live with this shame?" he asked, his voice hoarse. I could tell he was not used to showing his emotions.

I couldn't tell him the truth, but he would know anything else would be a lie so once again I remained silent. I finished my task and rose to leave him to his thoughts but he caught my hand as I was starting to walk away. It was unnerving to feel his own hand trembling as he fought hard not to show any signs of weakness.

"Will you come see me tomorrow?"

"If you wish."

He closed his eyes and nodded his head ever so slightly, looking more at peace. I, however, only had a heavier heart. I had to go find Marie and apologize.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I hope that you take my posting two chapters in fairly close succession as my apology for neglecting the story for so long. I hope to have chapter nine up soon as well. Thanks to all who have continued to give me your feedback, it is appreciated.**

The next few days followed without incident. Marie had forgiven me, though I still felt terrible about what I did. James was diligent in the practices I set for him and I had taken to teaching him how to dance to help his balance. Commander Bruence was steadily recovering and I was trying a new medicine we had ordered special on his eyes so they had to be bandaged which saved me momentarily from the inevitable day when he would see his reflection. It was amazing what people were willing to do for him. I hadn't realized it at first, but apparently he some sort of hero for the commune. That didn't make me feel better at all.

I still did not admit that I sang to him, though he continued to insist that he had heard me. More than one of my days were spent being angry at a comment he would make, but it would always end in James making sure that we both apologized. They had become good friends, James and Richard, though had they met in any other circumstance, I doubt it would have been so.

They were like night and day. James was always bright and optimistic, with a nice word to say to everyone and Richard I would swear stayed up late at night just to think of insults. It was very interesting to watch them interact.

Had I not been helping James with his walking, I wouldn't have been close enough to overhear a younger officer inform commander Bruence that the powers that be were having all remaining injured officers from the facility move immediately to a hospital further away. They were pulling out of the city, unable to stave off the army any longer.

I was happy to hear that it seemed that we had won the last major stronghold of the war, but I knew that this wasn't the end. Even when the war ended, it wouldn't be over for me.

I was able to warn the others and have our things collected and ready to go for when they suddenly had all the soldiers still in beds transported to a waiting ambulance. They could fit six soldiers laying down per ambulance by stacking the beds, giving little room to work, but it saved room. I knew each of us was down to caring for very few men. Patrice still had one soldier that had been touch and go for a while now. He had been the last to come in. He had somehow been too near to an unintentional explosion of some sort and they had brought him here.

I didn't give it a second thought when they waited to load him in for the last, but when they started herding us into the back of ambulances and the soldier still had not been loaded I realized that he wasn't coming with us. They were leaving him behind to die.

I shook my head, somehow, if I ever forgot just how retched the commune was, they would find a plethora of ways to remind me.

The trip took a few hours and I couldn't tell what direction we were heading in. Isabella and Patrice were in one ambulance, while Marie and I were in another. We both slept for a good portion of the way, though I woke occasionally to Marie coughing. She sounded like she was coming down with something. I felt badly, she still wasn't over whatever had given her the blisters, though she insisted that was just caused from biting her lips too much when she was deep in thought, an act that I had never witnessed her do.

The next hospital was practically a smaller version of the storehouse we had been in before. The walls were painted white, instead of being just the plain metal of the last place. It was maybe a third of the size, but instead of individual beds for everyone, there were only a small handful of the metal frames for officers to sleep on, also painted in the same dull shade of white. Everyone else seemed to have to sleep on small mats on the floor. We nurses though we upgraded in a way because we got to sleep on the mats as well. There was no room for us for privacy, but it was far better than the hard floor we had slept on before.

What had happened to the nurses before us, no one would say, but it was just us again. We had assumed that the night nurse, I think I heard her name was Rosalinda, was in the third ambulance, but when the doors opened, she was no where to be found. Again, no one answered when we asked where she had gone.

Marie and I were given the night watch together while Isabella and Patrice would work the days. It was particularly difficult for them because they did not know what had happened to Riena, Patrice's other daughter and Isabella's sister. The chances that Riena was still at the whore house when we were moved was slim, but it had still been a mild comfort to them to think that she was close. Now they had no idea if she was still there, if they had let her go or if she was even still alive.

We had never been brought any women to tend to. The commune regarded women as property. If one got sick, you threw her away and got a better one. There was no way to track Riena now.

The first days of adjusting to the new hospital were shadowed with their morbid faces. The clouds seemed to agree. After the second day, the first snow fell sadly from the sky. Marie and I did our best, but no amount of positive words would comfort them.

It took a few days, but we did eventually settle into a new routine that included more than double the soldiers we had before, but we were still easily able to handle it

.

Nearly two weeks after the fiasco with Marie, I told Richard the news that I would finally be able to remove the last of his bandages, including the ones over his eyes. He seemed happy, but I couldn't help the feeling that he would regret it.

Richard and James had both settled into the nocturnal life with Marie and I. They slept during the day and kept us entertained at night. Well, James mostly, Richard was still trying to adjust to having to speak kindly if he wanted anything. One advantage of being a nurse for him was that I didn't have to obey any order he gave me, as he wouldn't let anyone harm me for not listening. Not that there were many able soldiers around to try it anyway. There were only two guards for the entire hospital and they guarded the front door, the only way in or out of the facility.

Eventually, Richard had stopped trying to order me around and let me do my job. We developed a reluctant friendship that mostly considered him saying something that I would take offense to and stalk away while he pleaded that I forgive him.

"What is the first thing you wish to see once we have removed the bandages?" I asked, trying to distract both of our minds from his face. He was silent a moment before he reached a hand up to my arm and felt his way slowly up until it he had cupped my face in his large hand. I stiffened at his touch, but did not stop him.

"I wish only to see you."

His words caught me so off guard that I froze completely under his touch, my hands stilled on the bandages. I was waiting for the punch line. I was almost hoping that he would say something harsh like he wanted to be able to see how retched I looked, or he wanted to make fun of me, or anything other than just that. I would have traded that for an insult any day.

He seemed to take my stillness as an invitation to keep touching me. His thumb brushed over my lips and I quickly snapped out of my frozen state and removed his hand. He looked genuinely hurt by the act so I still held his hand in my own, but he seemed to understand my uneasiness at being touched.

"Are you married?" he asked quietly. The question had never arisen before. I had come to learn nearly everything about him, but offered no information about myself in return. I knew that he had grown up in a small town near the French boarder, that he had two younger brothers who had both died in war. I knew he had been married once before had lost his wife and only child when a lightening storm stuck the house while he was out helping an elderly neighbor secure their horse and had watched it burn to the ground, unable to do anything but watch in horror. It had said it was over in a matter of minutes. He didn't have time to run from the neighbor's house, less than a mile from his own home to rescue his family before the roof caved in. I couldn't help but feel a swell of pity for him. Who could hear that and not? It also helped me understand how he had become so hard hearted. After that he threw himself into the first cause that made sense, joining the army and quickly rising in rank.

"Elyssa?" his voice drew me back to his question. For a split second I debated telling him I was. I wasn't sure if it was because I didn't want him to touch me again, or because I did.

"No, I'm not married." He must have caught the reluctance in my voice and assumed there was something more.

"Engaged?" he asked, and if I wasn't mistaken it was with a hint of relief in his voice.

I hung my head, suddenly all too uncomfortable at this inquisition into my life. "I was."

"May I ask what happened?" he said compassionately. I suddenly had to fight back the urge to tell him everything. I had done a perfect job not letting anyone know anything about my background. No one but Patrice, Isabella and Marie knew about Erik, and that was in dept of a look as anyone had gotten. I couldn't very well ruin my nearly spotless record of avoidance of my personal life now, but I figured that if I said only as much as I had before, I wouldn't be betraying anything.

"He died. Killed . . . by . . ." I stopped as tears prevented my continuing explanation.

"By us," he finished for me. My heartache seemed to be echoed in his whispered voice.

I pulled my hand from his. "I should go. We can remove the bandages later." I said hastily before the tidal waves of tears could be released.

When I went to give James his nightly dancing lesson an hour later, I did so with red, puffy eyes from my crying that I had not been able to stop.

He noticed at once and his usual smile faded. "Elyssa, what is it? What's wrong?"

I did not see the point or use in trying to hide from him what he was bound to find out from Richard soon enough. I told him of our conversation. He remained silent a while, for I had never told him that I had been engaged and he learned of it in the same way Richard had.

"He's the one you see, when you look at us, isn't he?" He said quietly. It took me a second to understand what he was saying. "You said it was your father, but it's him."

I nodded my head slowly. "Yes. He was, but I don't see him anymore," I whispered, unable to look him in the eyes. It had been so long since I'd slept deep enough to have dreams and I didn't think about him in the waking moments that I was beginning to forget Erik's face. I couldn't remember just how intense his eyes were, or the exact line of his jaw. I felt the tears once again appear in my eyes and knew I had to get away. "I'm sorry James, would you mind if we skipped today and we can pick up tomorrow?"

"That's fine," he said with sadness in his voice, but I doubted it was entirely from not being able to practice his dancing. I murmured my thanks and left hurriedly.

I finished the rest of the day in a very solemn mood and tried to not notice James and Richard talking and looking in my direction. I went to bed exhausted and for the first time in over a week I woke with a stifled scream. I had seen Erik lying in his bed, but it was Richard's face I saw, not Erik's. The next morning I didn't have the stomach to eat anything.

Richard was very quiet when I went to see him. "Elyssa," he said, sitting up so that we faced each other, though his eyes were still bandaged. "I'm sorry. I never even stopped to think. It was insensitive of me . . ."

I took his hand and squeezed it gently. "You didn't know," I said, quick to try to change the subject. "Now how about we remove those bandages?" I added quickly before we could continue with the conversation. He understood and nodded.

"Close your eyes, this may hurt a little," I said as I carefully started to remove the tape that held the gauze in place.

"I'm used to pain," he said simply. I took it to mean because of his injuries, but I secretly hoped that there wasn't more to it than that.

He never even winced as I pulled the last bandage away. "Okay, open your eyes," I said at last.

He did as he was told but shut them quickly against the false light. As his eyes adjusted to what to him would be brightness, but to everyone else was barely enough light to see, he blinked a few times as images swam into his vision and went from shapes and shadows to fuzzy profiles to clearer pictures. He looked straight at me and I knew I didn't even have to ask if he could see me. Goodness! It was as though he could see right into me with those piercing hazel eyes.

"Elyssa," he whispered my name like a gentle breeze. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined you in my dreams, but it's as though I've known your face all along."

My face flushed at his words and I looked away. He put a finger beneath my chin and gently turned my face back towards his. He had leaned closer, much closer. We were only a breath apart. My heart began to race. With just a fraction of an inch lean, our lips would meet. The finger he had placed under my chin he moved to tuck a stray not quite shoulder length curl behind my ear and it made my spine tingle.  
We seemed suspended in time for a moment before the thought of my dream swam into my mind's eyes and I pulled back quickly feeling guilty. "I'm sorry, Richard. I can't."

For the second day in a row I ran away from him.

Where things had gone by slowly before, they know seemed to be changing on a daily basis. Now that Richard was able to see and was healed well enough to be on his feet and moving around, he assumed command of the hospital and sent the other ranking officer out for information.

James was well enough to have his cast replaced by a walking splint. He didn't want to use the cane any more and seemed to do fine without it. Soon he would be dancing circles around me. He would always have a slight limp, but I promised him that girls would think it was endearing. He had laughed and said his heart would always belong to me. His shameless flirting was thankfully only done playfully. He seemed to know that I wouldn't respond well to any attempts at anything more than a friendship and I was grateful. I knew that he did love me, and I felt very fondly of him as well, but nothing more than as an acquaintance for him and he had the love of a sister for me.

Richard on the other hand had a hard time knowing where the line was. Or perhaps it was that he knew exactly where the line was and stepped boldly over it. Either way, since my last fairly harsh denial of him, he had taken over and nearly stopped talking to me completely. Everyday he seemed to try some new way to get me close to him, and finally when he tried to grab me and kiss me I had reared back and slapped him smartly across the unburned side of his face. I knew I should be thankful, but I still felt it as a loss. I was allowing myself to become far too invested in Richard. I stubbornly refused to be happy because of him, happiness only led to hurt.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: And in record time, you have yet another chapter! Woo Hoo! Thanks to my loverly reviewer who mentioned a slight lack of editing. I wrote the chapters a while ago and the last two I posted without really re-reading them to check for grammatical errors. I'm sorry about that. Anyway, this one has been read through about three or four times now, so I hope it's pretty cleaned up. Things will be getting a little shook up here pretty quick, so stay tuned!**

Marie was slowly deteriorating before my eyes and though we were not supposed to use any medicine for personal uses, I still stole some away for her. She was doing better for a while, but the blisters on her dried lips became more and more evident and her body wasted away until there was nothing but a skeleton where a beautiful girl once stood. I knew she tried to hide her fits of coughing, but no one was fooled, least of all me.

Because most of the other men were taken care of and just waiting to be well enough to leave, I spent most of my time nursing Marie. While sitting with my back against the cold metal frame of the building, I cradled her in my arms and fell into a light sleep while Patrice and Isabella were working. I hadn't even realized I was asleep until I was awakened by the sound of Marie's coughing fit. She was convulsing with the sheer force of each cough.

I tightened my arms around her and pressed my lips to her forehead, her fever raged out of control. I knew she had been hiding it, but I hadn't realized that it was so bad. What I had wrongly assumed was one sickness following another was just one illness getting gradually worse.

She grasped for my hand and I gave it to her willingly. She squeezed it with such force that I hoped for a brief moment that she just might possess the strength to get though whatever was besieging her.

My hopes were instantly dashed when the cloth she was coughing into became speckled with blood.

I didn't need to call Patrice or Isabella over, they could hear the change in the cough and came running. I looked desperately toward Patrice for help as she handed me a fresh, wet cloth to press to Marie's forehead, but she just shook her head sadly and looked away. In a matter of seconds the cold water had turned warm against her skin and then became too heated to be of any help.

Marie collapsed against me when her coughing finally ceased. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. Her prematurely aged face was taught with the concentration it took just for her to draw air into her ragged lungs.

She saw me and the corners of her blistered lips turned up ever so slightly. It was the closest thing to a smile she could manage.

Patrice and Isabella each put a hand on her in comfort.

Sensing the inevitable, Marie reached up to stroke my face. "I always wanted a sister," she said, struggling with each word. "Never thought - I would find - one here..." She could only manage a few words at a time before her body shook with the effort.

"I love you more than if you were my sister, Marie," I promised her, tear streaming freely down my face. "Please don't go. Please don't leave me here," I begged her desperately, clawing at whatever I could say to make her hold on just a little while longer.

She tried to smile again. When she spoke again, each word was a gasp and I knew must be painful, but her face betrayed no hint of it. In fact, she looked more at peace than I had ever seen her and I wondered if she didn't feel anything at all anymore. "I'll ... tell ... Erik ... hello ... for you ... sister..."

She took one last gasp and with the most beautiful smile on her ravaged lips, she closed her eyes and left me.

I doubled over with the force of my sobs, my tears spilling onto Marie's peaceful face. I didn't even remember Patrice or Isabella was there until they each kissed my forehead and then Marie's hand in turn.

I hadn't realized anyone else was there either until James bent as best he could in his brace and gave me a quick hug, he touched the fabric of Marie's skirt, dirty and torn, for a brief second, muttering something I understood to be Latin, but no more, and then leaving. I looked up after him and saw that several of the soldiers had gathered around to say their silent goodbyes.

My eyes locked with Richard's, his face filled with such helpless agony that I had to look away. My cries seemed to rebound off the walls and mix with every fresh sob.

Tears still streamed down my face even while Marie's body, her hand still in mine, began to grow cold.

I don't know how long I had been with Marie's body or who had dug the shallow grave in the frozen ground a dozen feet from the entrance of the hospital, but it was James who finally pried me from my agony and told me that I needed to bury my sister. He seemed to have little trouble picking up Marie's body from my arms. I rose sorely from the cold floor and followed him outside, not stopping to think about the fact that I could be - should be - shot dead for trying to escape.

There wasn't anyone there who hadn't been witness to my anguish and I was sure they knew what it was I was doing. No one made a move to stop me.

James laid her in the cold earth. He went to move the dirt from the pile beside the grave onto her, but I stopped him. He seemed to understand what I was saying without words and backed away, though he didn't go inside. It was cold, but there was no snow falling yet.

I let it comfort me, refresh me. As I reached for some dirt and began to bury the girl that I had come to cherish, I softly sang her requiem. The contrast between then and the last time I had sung was stark. Whereas now I was surrounded by cold earth, a harsh reality and soldiers who did not wish to be there, the last time I had been surrounded by flame, the facade of the stage and an audience of people who flocked to see me, to see _us_.

I felt eyes of every occupant of our pathetic lodgings on me, I knew I was being watched, not to make sure I didn't run away, but with shock. I had vehemently denied my ability to sing, and now, fractured though it was by my grief, the final words that would carry Marie's soul to heaven were carried on the wind by the song of a defeated girl, whose voice rang with precision and clarity for no reason other than it was the only gift I could give her.

It was the only way I knew how to say goodbye.

_Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine;_

I sang it for Marie.

_In memoria æterna erit justus,_

I sang it for Erik.

_ab auditione mala non timebit._

I sang it for the innocence of a naive child who thought that she could save them.

* * *

Richard called me to meet him a week or so after Marie's funeral in one of the only rooms with it's own walls and door. It had been turned into his make-shift office. He was formal in his words and I knew that he was still hurting after my last words to him. He had come to me the day before to try and comfort me in my grieving. He had wrapped his arms gently around me when no one was watching and confessed that he felt strongly for me, though he was very careful not to mention love. I had told him that my heart belonged to a dead man, a man that I would never be with because of what he had believed was a just cause. I had watched the pain creep into his face and though he put on a stoic face, I could still see it in his eyes.

I hadn't meant to be so harsh and cold, but I couldn't force any other emotions. I didn't want to be comforted.

"I thought I would inform you that we will be breaking down this hospital. The war is over. Most of the wounded have already left. We will be vacating as soon as the sun is up. I waited as long as I could."

I couldn't believe his words at first. He continued speaking, but I heard nothing. I was distantly happy, but it meant nothing to me personally. He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me lightly to remove me from my faraway thoughts. I didn't register the movement at first but finally looked at him with confusion.

"Elyssa, I want to make you happy. Even James cannot make you smile. It's like you've forgotten how. Even before Marie died" - I winced at the reminder -"I have never seen you smile. I know I cannot make you happy again, but isn't there anything I can do to make you at least smile? What would make you smile?"

I thought about that for a long moment and he grunted in frustration, thinking that I was just ignoring him. "Elyssa?" I held up a finger for him to see that I was honestly trying to think about it. He seemed to calm down and waited patiently. I couldn't be happy with so much grief blocking the way. He was right, not only could I barely remember how to smile anymore, I could hardly remember even my own name or my past life.

"It will sound ridiculous if I tell you," I said softly, already feeling ashamed.

He lifted my face with a gentle touch. "Tell me. If it is in my power I will grant it. Do you want to go home? Do you want me to go away so you never have to see me again? Tell me, Elyssa."  
I took a deep breath and looked around. It was the middle of the night and no one was around. The door was open slightly, but no one would be anywhere near enough to even accidentally over hear.

"I wish you would stop calling me that," I whispered, not even realizing myself that this was the beginning of the end of my well constructed facade.

He was puzzled and didn't bother trying to show it. "What do you mean? What else do you want me to call you?"

I sighed, I was tired of pretending. "I want you to call me my name. My _real_ name."

It took him a minute to understand. I was sure that once he thought about it he wouldn't be too terribly surprised that I would use a name other than my real one, just surprised I hadn't said anything about it before.

When he didn't say anything, I decided to go on, I had no more reason to hide. There was nothing any human could do to make my pain worse. "My name is -" I took a breath, knowing this would be the first time I had heard that name much less spoken it in months. "...Christine."

I dared to look at his face, his jade eyes were tight as he processed what I said.

"Christine." He tried out the name and a soft smile touched his lips. "You do seem more like a Christine than an Elyssa."

It was such a small thing, but I had begun to cry. In just that little name I felt like I had found a piece of myself again. It didn't matter who spoke it, it was my name and it sounded beautiful.

He wrapped his arms around me and I did not resist.

"Christine ... Christine ... Christine ..." He whispered my name like a mantra. He did not ask my reason for giving a false name. He did not inquire as to the reason I chose that name above all others. He merely accepted it as my name and a part of me. It only made me sob harder, but he seemed to know that I needed to cry so more and he did not try to stop me. It was not tears for grieving. I had cried plenty of those to last several lifetimes. It was not even in resignation or for any other reason that I had previously cried for. It was tears of complete relief. Now that I had nothing left, I had nothing left to hide. I realized that I wanted Richard to know me, not just my name.

After that I couldn't stop myself from confessing everything. I told him that I had come to Paris when I was seven and lived at the Opera. His arms stiffened around me and it suddenly felt like I was being comforted by a statue. I assumed it was because he had known what had become of my once home. I knew it would be nothing like before and that the commune would have ransacked it. I didn't dare to hope that it was even still standing, but I did not stop, I kept confessing.

I told him of my angel, my Erik. I told him everything. How he taught me to sing. How he ruled the opera. How Erik had kidnapped me and forced me to chose between Raoul de Changy and him. It was a flood of words that I couldn't stop. It didn't exactly make me feel better, but I least my story would be told. I would be free of a now unnecessary burden. I managed to get all the up to the night that the commune attacked, but I couldn't go on after that. I stopped at "Then they came..."

When I had sufficiently cried myself out and Richard had still not moved, I put a hand to his chest and tried to look up, but his arms were locked. For a horrifying second I thought he had had a stroke, but I pushed harder until he finally let me go. His eyes were far away, the look in them terrified me.

"Richard?"

No response.

"Richard?" I asked a little more desperately.

"Richard say something."

He finally did look at me, but now it was he that had the agony etched deeply into his face. "How can I...?" He asked, but I knew there was more to his question and I let him form it in his own time.

"How can I say what I should, when I know it will kill you to hear? I might as well put the gun to your head and pull the trigger myself."

His words frightened me more than his eyes. Richard never spoke like that. He had seen far too much death to use those kinds of words lightly.

"Tell me, Richard. There's nothing you could say or do that would hurt me more than life has already."

A tear rolled down his cheek. Soon another followed, and another.

"Oh Christine." My name sounded like the cry of his heart ripping open. "Yes there is."

**A/N: Dun dun duuuuunnnn! What could Richard's secret be? It's a doozy. **

**Anyway, for those of you who are really attentive or are like me and just love this kind of stuff, I know that _technically_, the requiem Christine sings at Marie's burial isn't the "right" one, but I'll give you the translation and I think you'll see why I chose this requiem instead. If it really bugs you, just think of it as she sung the "right" one and added this on at the end. :)**

_Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine;_

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord.

_In memoria æterna erit justus,_

He shall be justified in everlasting memory,

_ab auditione mala non timebit. _

and shall not fear evil reports.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter Ten**_

The ground felt solid beneath my feet as I ran. I hadn't realized that I possessed the energy or strength to run so fast or so far. I knew that I had my freedom, that no one would try to hunt me down now. I wasn't running away from anything. I wasn't even running _to_ anything, much less to any_one_. There was no one left to run to.

I tried to desperately cling to the numbness that had enveloped me before. It had been a merciful barrier between me and the rest of the world, now all veils had been ripped from my eyes and all protective barriers from my heart were removed, not that there was much left of it to be hurt.

Richard had been right about that fact. There was just one last way to twist the daggers a little deeper, to manipulate my brief absence of hurt into a betrayal.

His words still rang in my ear just a little too loudly, I couldn't shake them no matter how hard I tried. They swirled in my mind, crossing over each other and running together until they made sense only to me. I tripped over a low branch and fell to the ground, as a sob was torn from my breast. I screamed once, and then again and again until my ears were ringing. The scene replayed before my eyes like a moving picture playing on the inside of my eyelids.

The look in his eyes was the same look I had seen many a dying man's eyes. He had known the end was at hand. Everything he had come to care for had left him, and I was to be the last, jerked from his life too soon.

I asked again what he could possibly mean that he could hurt me more than I had already been hurt. He held me tightly against him for a moment. My body screamed to resist the comfort, but I sensed this was a goodbye. After all, he said himself that the war was over and as ruthless as a commander as he had been, Richard would not hold me against my will.

"Ely-Christine, there are things that I have done that I am far from being proud of. I have been commanded to do unspeakable acts, and been the one behind the command of other despicable things. But know now, before I go any further, that if I had known about you - about anything - I wouldn't have -"

"Richard, you're not making sense."

"There was a house, I was told it was filled with enemy spies. I was commanded to burn it to the ground without question. I thought if I could just interrogate one of them that I could find out more enemy hide-outs. I disobeyed the order and entered the shell that was once a house. There were no enemies. Just children and some women. They were all huddled in a corner, half starved and frightened beyond words." Here he stopped as his chest heaved slightly with the memory. I presumed it was from the idea of watching those woman and children die in the same fashion as his wife and children. "I couldn't do it," he continued slowly. "I couldn't kill them. When my superiors found out, I was removed from a position of glory and put in charge of protecting the ammunitions. I vowed that I would prove that I was a man worthy commanding an army.

"There was an enemy spy that kept stealing the ammunitions. At first I thought it was one of the soldiers, but once they started disappearing or turning up dead, I knew it was my chance for valor once more and went about my task of destroying this enemy with vehemence."

He looked at me carefully, but I was shaking my head, not wanting to hear it, but above all, not wanting to understand what he was saying.

"The ammunition was kept in an old opera house. I sent my very best assassins after this ghost that was haunting the opera. It took seven highly skilled and trained assassins to catch the phantom of the opera."

I was suddenly transported directly into my nightmares. Hard and uncaring hands had pulled me harshly from the bed. I had kept my head down, not looking into his eyes. His piercing hazel eyes. He had slapped my face when I tried to scream.

My knees buckled under me and when Richard automatically reached to hold me steady I struck him. He did not shirk away from me, but stayed perfectly still while I flailed at him. I hit him over and over until my hands were bruised. I scratched at his scarred face and he did not so much as put up a hand to stop me. My scream sounded unnatural, as though Cerebus was wailing at the loss of Hades.

I don't remember what I said to Patrice or Isabella or even to James. I just know that I hugged them extremely briefly and ran, leaving everything behind. No one tried to stop me. No soldier threatened to have me shot if I did not return. They were just spirits witnesses to my renewed anguish and did nothing to hold me back.

As I ran blindly through the snow, my mind was faltering back and forth between reality, memory and the hazy world where the truth blended into something else entirely. The cold should have been helping to clear my mind, but it seem to only be able to clear away the numbness.

I had no idea how far I had possibly run before I collapsed with exhaustion. It could have been a hundred miles or a hundred feet for all I knew. I forced myself to get back on my feet, my knees began to tremble from the coldness, my muscles screamed furiously at me at their sudden call to action after so long of idle inactivity. My stomach had even begun to growl angrily at me. All these registered in my mind, but only as an echo, like someone else had mentioned it. I pushed it to the side. What was a little more pain to me now? Nothing. I welcomed it because it gave me something to focus on.

I didn't run now, my legs gave out under me when I tried. I was forced to walk, my pace frustrating me. I chastised myself and my weak body, throwing all my concentration on berating every single part of my body individually. I was so entirely busy that I hadn't looked up to notice where the snow seemed to dip in the snow slightly, clearly over a path of sorts. I hadn't noticed the trees thinning slightly to reveal dark rectangular shapes against the obliterating whiteness with little trails of smoke wafting into the crisp air, joining the rest of the clouds.

The further I walked, the deeper the snow seemed to get. It was now halfway up to my knees, and I had nothing more than my tattered clothes to keep me warm.

The snow became slightly packed where my feet landed, forcing it to compact beneath my slight weight. The snow began to groan with each absent step I took instead of the customary crunch I was accustomed to. The more I walked, the louder it began to groan. I paused for a moment to consider this. I had throughly berated every inch of my body as it slowly let me down and was desperately searching for a new distraction before my thoughts strayed back to the tortured expression Richard wore.

I thought the groaning might be my stomach again, but it was wrong somehow, like it was coming from my feet rather than my wraith thin abdomen. I was distantly curious about this, but as it made no sense to me, I began to walk again. With the next step, the groan became even greater, protesting any more movement. The step after that brought a completely different sound. It wasn't a groan or a growl, it was a strange cracking sound and the ground seemed to shift under me ever so slightly.

For a long moment of horror I thought I had broken a bone. I waited for the pain to hit, but there was nothing, just the strange moaning. I thought how nice it was that I must have so frozen my feet and legs that I couldn't even feel something like a bone snapping under the pressure. A brief lapse of punishment from the world. A moment of relief. I wondered how far I could get with a broken foot.

Where could I possibly go to have a doctor look at it? Did I even want to have it looked at? Wasn't it just easier to sit down and let the cold settle into the break until I couldn't feel it again?

I sighed. I couldn't run away very far with a broken foot. If I ever found civilization again, I would search out a doctor, preferably one who would take some sort of servitude for payment, seeing as I had no money. Ironic that I had spent heaven knows how many months fixing wounded soldiers and setting broken bones but now that it was me, I had nothing to heal myself. I could have probably made myself a splint with some sturdy twigs and twine, but without knowing where the break was, it was pointless. So long as it didn't start hurting me to the point of incapacitation, I would keep going.

I began to doubt myself entirely with the next step I took. There was another horrific cracking sound and the snow even caved slightly around my legs. How was this possible? I looked around and for the first time realized there wasn't a single tree directly around me. They were all around me, but the closest one must have been thirty feet behind me. They seemed to form a circle of sorts around the little meadow that I was in.

The snow slowed to a light powder, letting me see fairly clearly. I could see dead brown shrubs covered with snow just inside the circle of trees, but they came no further. Perplexed, I began to look very closely at my surroundings. Inside the circle of dead plants it was completely solid white. Not a single rock or shrub stuck out from the ground.

Oh no.

A sound from the trees caught my attention. I thought I saw something move in the shadows but the image was fleeting, a small black animal perhaps, but it disappeared without a trace.

I would have explored it had I not had more pressing worries, mainly being the fact that the earth was still slightly shifting below me. There were a hundred tiny cracking sounds now, the spread out all around me. I closed my eyes as I saw what was going to happen just a half a second before it did.

The ground opened up under me, swallowing me whole. I saw the water surround me before I felt it. My instant reaction was to kick for the surface, but my legs wouldn't respond. I tried to grab for a hand hold of some kind in the ice, but my fingers couldn't close anymore. They were almost instantly frozen. My arm was still reaching upward, but found nothing but floating ice chunks. My heart began a strange stutter. Like it was chattering in the cold.

The temperature never fully hit me, but I knew I was freezing alive, I could feel it penetrate every fiber of my being, stilling my organs. I didn't fight it. It was bizarrely fascinating to me. The remaining air in my lungs burned to be released. I mused over the contrast of the fire in my chest and the pressing arctic cold. I wondered if I continued to hold my breath which one would win. The cold seemed far too vast to be over done, but the fire was burning hotter and hotter with every passing second.

Blackness began to creep in to my mind now, making it hard to think. I tried to focus, but I was being sucked into a murky unknowing. This frightened me until I realized that the cold offered the exact escape I had been looking for. All I had to do was accept it.

So I did.

One by one, my most painful memories were called to my mind. My father, laying on his death bed, telling him he would send me an angel once he was in heaven flitted across my mind and I let it be carried away from me, cast in the world of forgotten memories. Next was Raoul, I had hurt him so badly and in the process, hurt myself. That memory was soon swept away as well. I skipped the next obvious memory to be deleted and moved on. My mysterious soldier I let die ... Marie ... Patrice's and Isabella's grief over Riena ... Richard ... all gone, like a procession of the dead being buried and abandoned. I saved Erik for last. I wanted him to be the last image I saw before I allowed not just my memories, but myself be lost to the world forever.

I could see him so clearly now that all my other thoughts and memories were gone. His hideously scarred face seemed beautiful to me. I wanted to kiss it, to heal him, but when I opened my mouth to tell him I still loved him, there was a great bursting from my lungs as my breath was stolen away from me.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: It occurred to me, after a loverly reviewer (as all reviewers are) that it may seem like the story ended there, it doesn't! So I'm posting the next chapter now in hopes that you don't leave me. There's still a bunch more, actually. Well, maybe not a bunch, I'd say we're just now on the downward slope of the story but our darling Christine still has some more to go through before we can let her be at peace. Now is where we can have some more fun again, as you'll very soon see.**

_**Chapter Eleven**_

I was aware of voices first. One at first then several more joined in. Their words were jumbled and distant, as though I was listening to them from under water. I paused in my thinking. Wasn't I still under water? I tried to move my fingers or toes, but there was no movement. I tried to feel anything. I felt a slight pressure against my back, but nothing more. I tried desperately to understand the words being spoken around me, but they didn't make any sense. Not like they were speaking another language, because I knew I should recognize the consonants and vowels. They were familiar, but I couldn't make the way they flowed together make sense. It hurt my brain to think, so I gave up and let my mind wander again.

* * *

The next time the voices came back I fought them. I wanted to go back to the blackness. It was comforting there, but there was something forcing me to wake up. It was a strange smell that made my brain real. Again the words came back, but they made no more sense then they had before.

"The smelling salts are bringing her around. I think she'll be okay. She just needs some more time. Heaven knows what the girl's been through." The voice was a deep timbre, but older, hoarse with age. I didn't recognize it. Someone patted my hand as it lay still by my side and I realized for the first time that I had _all_ my senses back, not just smell. I could feel the quilt wrapped around me, comforting and warm. Once the peppermint of the smelling salts cleared I could smell bread rising not far away, causing my mouth to water and I hear a fire crackling close by.

I was suddenly torn between opening my eyes and seeing if what my other senses picked up on looked as good as it seemed, or let sleep take me again, showing me odd things in my dreams that made about as much sense as the rest of what was going on. I settled for the familiar and allowed myself to fall back into sleep, knowing it wouldn't last much longer.

* * *

I could feel eyes watching me. That must have been what ultimately woke me up. I was no longer tired and knew I couldn't escape to the world of unknowing again. I slowly opened my eyes, afraid of what I might find, but there was nothing but the pair of curious blue-green eyes that I automatically focused on. I looked back with matching curiosity. The beautiful eyes belonged to a very young girl with a roundish face and very fair skin, framed by tight, black curls. She was a beautiful child. As soon as she must have seen the recognition of another human in my eyes she smiled at me, her two front teeth missing.

I didn't smile back. I couldn't seem to remember how to. We watched each other silently for a long moment, locked in each other's gaze. Finally, without word the girl jumped down from where she had been perched - in a chair next to the small bed I occupied - and skipped out of the room. My eyes followed her, wondering if I had done something to offend her.

I looked around the room, surveying for at least something that might tell me where I was. There was a window close to the head of the bed, but the only thing I could see out of it was the pure white of softly falling snow. There was a fireplace on the opposite end of the wall, the flames barely flickering in the glowing coals. The was a small rocking chair next to my bed with a few scattered items laying next to it. A mirror, a worn doll and a faded pink blanket.

The little girl came back a short while later, her brow wrinkled in concentration, carefully carrying a bowl that was teeming with an off-white colored liquid mush. She took each step with slow precision, making sure not to spill a single drop. In between her remaining teeth, she clenched the very end of a spoon.

The smell of the soup drifted ahead of her, filling the room with the aroma. My stomach growled loudly in reaction. The girl set the bowl down on the wooden floor when she finally reached me. As soon as the spoon was out of her mouth, her grin was back. She laid the spoon in the soup and reached both her arms out to me. I couldn't understand what she was wanting until she gently took my hands in hers and tried to pull me upward.

I helped as much as I could but my muscles felt like rubber, not wanting to agree, but soon enough I was sitting up, my back against the cold wall. The girl took the blue and white checkered quilt that had fallen off my shoulders and wrapped it around me again, tucking the corners around my back as much as she possibly could. I had a feeling of being an over-sized doll,but I was grateful.

When she seemed confident that I wasn't going to fall over, she bent to pick up the bowl and spoon and knelt on the bed, facing me. She dipped a spoonful of the mucky soup and carefully blew on it, causing tiny ripples. There was only a little steam coming off the bowl, but apparently enough to cause the girl to be cautious.

She lifted the spoon towards my face. When I did not respond, she sighed without a trace of impatience and cupped my chin with her other hand and opened my mouth for me. She placed the spoon against my tongue and I could feel the heat that she had been worried about. She closed my mouth without removing the spoon and pushed against my forehead, causing my head to tilt backwards slightly. The liquid sloshed down the back of my throat as she gently pulled the spoon from my mouth. I could feel exactly where the soup was as it slid down my dry throat and sloshed into my welcoming stomach. I fancied I could even feel it rolling and churning inside of me, warming me a little from the inside out. My body reacted to this intrusion of nourishment and growled again for more food.

I was curious why I couldn't even do such a simple act as feeing myself, but I was strangely not worried. The girl continued to feed me such until I figured out the simple movement of closing and opening my own mouth, though it took a great more amount of effort than it should have. The patient child continued this for almost an hour, wiping at my chin with the corner of her dress. It wasn't as though her dress was not stained enough already, but I still felt badly that she should further ruin it. It looked as though it had once been white, but was now yellowed and covered in small blotches of various sizes and shapes. The bowl was not even half way empty when the girl slowly got off the bed and sat in her rocking chair, finishing the rest of it herself while I still leaned against the wall, feeling rather contended, my stomach happily digesting its delicious contents.

The girl showed me her tattered fabric doll, missing an eye and nearly all her brown hair. There were also several places I could see that her meager stuffing was trying to escape, but as I watched the girl hug the doll tightly to her chest, I could easily see that it was a very precious possession to her.

The girl pointed to her dilapidated doll and with a meaningful look at me said, "Ally."

I was caught off guard by the sound of the girl's voice. It was very high, higher than a normal child's, though that could have been that because I hadn't been around children in so long that it just seemed to be abnormally so. It was a beautiful little voice, the little that I heard of it. It was - I struggled to think of the correct word - pure.

Then the girl pointed to herself and said "Helen."

I gave a very small smile, the feeling was extremely odd, like my muscles hadn't practiced the movement enough for it to feel normal.

Then Helen pointed her little finger at my chest. For a moment I had thought she had already named me and was going to tell me, but then I realized that she was waiting for me to speak. I tried to force the word out, but it burned in my throat. It took several attempts before I could finally croak out the name, "Christine."

I didn't stop to think this time about using a different name. It felt wrong to lie to the child anyway. And what did I care if something bad happened now? The fighting was over, as far as I knew. Hopefully I would be able to go somewhere far away and start a new life, somewhere in the country, with few neighbors that would mind their own lives and let mine remain my own mystery.

The girl watched me for another long moment, patiently waiting until all the emotions were done playing across my face and she knew intuitively it was okay to ask another question.

"What happened?" The girls voice was so filled with compassion that I resisted the urge to tell her everything about my life. Instead I just said, "Commune."

She seemed to understand what I meant. "Me too," she said with a small sigh. "And Ally." For a moment I thought I upset her, but she finally nodded to some thought in her head and touched my face gently. The single word she uttered brought unexpected tears to my eyes. "Safe."

She helped me lay back down carefully and tucked her doll in next to me. She leaned over to kiss my forehead, repeated the gesture with the doll and then left the room. I didn't see her the rest of the night and it left me to think about things. The pain in my chest was replaced by a dull ache as I thought about my life up until that point. My heart had seem to compartmentalize all the different events all the way back from before my father's death to my escape from the commune. I knew that if I kept them safely tucked away, they couldn't hurt me more than just a persistent throbbing. Throbbing I could deal with. I just had to be careful to not let any unwanted emotions out without putting up barriers around myself so I could deal with them each individually. I could do that. I was certain of it.

I breathed a small sigh of relief. Somehow, being in the water had frozen my pain into manageable chunks and gave me a chance to start again. I knew the pain wasn't never going to be completely gone, but it felt more like a bad dream, nagging at the back of my mind, but not ruling my life.

I hoped that little Helen had been right and that I was safe here. Safe from the outside world and safe from myself. I had been given a chance to start again, and I swore to myself that I would not waste the opportunity.

**A/N: Isn't she just a sweetheart? Anywho, thought you might enjoy a little trivia tidbit on this story. Through many many revisions of this story, I decided to change Christine's name, but I struggled with what to name her. I decided to name her Helen because Helen of Troy is mentioned in Faust which is Erik's favorite opera. But I just didn't like and fought with it the whole time. I wrote a few chapters after this one and left it alone for a couple months and came back and decided that I really liked the name Elyssa. So I changed all the references of Christine as Helen to Christine as Elyssa. But as I was editing and doing some few more revisions on this chapter, I realized that I had completely forgotten that I had named the little girl Elyssa. Oops. So anyway, there was another name change with the same names. I think I like it better this way. What do you think?**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Okay, so I went back to write another chapter and realized that I must have been clinical when I posted this chapter. So I've gone back and re-done and I apologize with all sincerity for my doltishness. Our darling little girl is back to being Helen instead of Elyssa (a mistake that I had fixed at one point but apparently forgot to save) and it has been re-edited to remove - hopefully - all or most of the grammar errors. I have also added quite a bit to this chapter, so even if you read it before, I beg you to please read it again. Thanks. And sorry again. I promise that I will never again post a chapter of this story without re-reading it. Please don't hate me! **

_**Chapter Twelve**_

The days ticked by slowly, Helen came to see me every day, speaking little. There were days when we did not say a single word to each other, and yet it was as though we had spoken all that needed to be said. We were both content to be silent; sometimes we would stare at each other's faces and sometimes out the window. I was mesmerized by her childlike beauty and wondered what it must be like to see the world through her perspective. Likewise, she seemed to be trying to imagine what it must be like to be me and to have seen the places and things that I had seen.

She was helping me regain my mobility a little more every day. With much work and pain, eventually I was even able to walk around for small bits of time. The doctor had come the day after I had woken up and started mumbling something about too much time asleep, muscle loss and bone frailty while he examined me. I didn't pay him much attention.

I eventually gathered that I was in a hotel of sorts, and though it didn't appear to be especially splendid, from what I could imagine where we had been I guessed that it was most likely the finest hotel in between two large cities but I had not real idea what cities they were. The winter was finally melting into spring and it seemed as though everyone was getting ready for the traveling season to begin.

As I began to regain my mobility I was able to wander through the halls briefly. The care-taker of the hotel, Ester, was a portly little woman with premature silver hair, making it impossible to guess her age. I heard no stories about a husband, so I assumed it was just her that ran everything. Despite her occasionally crotchety attitude, I felt sad for her that she was alone. She wasn't mean at heart, just motivated by making money. I suspected that she had cared too much for money that she would place it above the love of a man and therefore struggled to keep both.

She happened to pass me in a hall one morning. She looked me up and down, assessing my condition. "Well," she said, with a slur of possibly German. "you look more alive than before. Thought you were gonna die for sure." When I didn't say anything in reply she seemed to be irritated. My brain was still sluggish and didn't pick up that this small woman was responsible for allowing me to stay. "Can you understand me?" she asked, her voice raising several octaves as though yelling at me would make it easier to understand her.

"No one told me she was dumb," she started mumbling to herself and looking around helplessly for someone who spoke 'dumb' to translate. "What the hell am I going to do with a half-dead and dumb skeleton?"

I found myself just staring at Ester with curiosity, my mind furiously trying to keep up but unable to comprehend. I made a jerky movement towards my room and caught her attention. She seemed to know that I was trying to leave and shooed me off and then left before I had even fully turned to walk back.

The next morning Helen helped me stumble to the kitchen to sit on a small chair in a corner, while she went away to do her chores, leaving me to listen to the boisterous cook. I was touched by the sincerity of Helen. She was always making sure that I was perfectly fine before she had to run off.

The cook, Janette, was a voluptuous woman with a very kind face. She was much younger that Ester. I couldn't guess her possibly any older than thirty. She spoke ceaselessly and I was thankful. She told me that she and her husband lived in a small house off the side of the hotel and John, her husband, worked as a general handy-man, making sure all the latest gadgets from the big cities were working properly. He was currently working hard to make the whole hotel fitted with a new running water system. Her talk showed some hint at an education, but it seemed like mostly it was just picked up by the aristocrats that occasionally stayed at the hotel.

She occasionally asked me a question but didn't wait for an answer. She had laughed with a hint of an Irish accent and said it was no wonder that Helen and I got on so well. She had called us both kindred in our silence.

Later that afternoon, Helen stopped by the kitchen to check on me, carrying a mop and bucket, her cheeks all smudged from cleaning fireplaces all morning. She touched my cheek and looked into my eyes. When I nodded at her unspoken question, she smiled brightly and went about to do the rest of her work.

Janette had laughed at me and brought over a cloth to wipe the smudge Helen's fingers had left on my face. "It's a good thing she has someone like you to be with. Poor dear. Ever since her mother died when she was a baby she's been so alone."

My blank face must have been amusing to her somehow because she laughed lightly and added, "Helen never told you did she? No, I don't suppose she would have," she continued, answering her own question again.

"Elizabeth Jameson was already on death's door when she came knocking here five years ago, looking for a warm place for her and Helen to stay. Little thing was hardly more than a year old and shivering so badly her lips were blue. 'Course not even Ester could turn her away, even if she didn't have no money. Elizabeth died that night, with her little baby curled up next to her. 'Found her the next morning when little Helen was crying, trying to shake her mamma awake. There wasn't anywhere else for her to go, so she's stayed here, doing the housework to pay back some of the debt Ester keeps tacking on for her food and shelter. She'll be working it off the rest of her life, unless she grows up to be a beauty and meets a rich man. If it weren't for her current station, she wouldn't have no problem with that. She's got such a pretty little face. You just wait until she grows up, she'll have all the lads flocking to her, mind you."

I didn't argue with her, even in my mind. I sat and thought about what she had said. Maybe that was why she and I seemed to understand one another so well. We were both alone in this world. I at least had known my father; she hadn't had the chance to know either parent very well.

As soon as Ester discovered that she could communicate without words she put me to work as a waitress of sorts. She handed me a tray and drug me through the dining room, pointing obviously at a table that needed something – a dish picked up, more water, the usual things. There weren't too many customers yet, but I still found myself running around trying to fill everyone's needs. Ester told everyone beforehand that I was deaf and dumb so I got yelled at a lot and had to decipher over-exaggerated gestures. Had I actually been deaf, it would have been easier to read their lips. I quickly learned to try to anticipate what they wanted before they told me to avoid the hassle.

Most of the characters who stayed at the hotel were very private people and kept to themselves. I didn't mind it because I wasn't forced into pointless conversations and I got to work closely with Janette. When the days got warmer, the business became better and soon I wasn't able to keep up with all the tables on my own. Ester hired another girl, Suzy, to help and even let Helen do a lot of the running. She had been forced to hire a full time housekeeper as well, who greatly lightened Helen's chore list. The new housekeeper had an inexplicable disdain for small adorable children so Helen was often sent away from her work to come help me.

I got along just fine with Suzy and found that I really enjoyed the life that I had fallen into. I realized that I would be sad to leave, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I didn't want to. I was sure Ester could use me all year round and I found I could even be able to make a little extra money mending clothes that I could put aside in case I ever had need of it.

The serving was greatly increasing my muscle strength and the mending was returning my dexterity. Even Helen started making small dresses for Ally with the scraps I had left over. It was just one more way we bonded. She came into my room every night as we sat by the fire. Some nights, when we were both too tired to work much on the sewing she would climb into bed with me and we would fall asleep with her curled up next to me with my arm wrapped around her.

One night, while we both stared blankly at the burning timbers, Helen looked up at me from under the crook of my arm. She touched my cheek lightly. "Christine?" I inclined my head more towards her. "You talk?" she asked simply, her words soft and low, as though she was trying not to disturb the ambiance of silence.

I could never lie to Helen. After all, she had heard me speak once before. I had told her my name, something that I communicated to everyone else via pen and paper. I nodded my head once. She continued to gaze at me for a while and I returned to looking at the fire. She seemed contented with my honesty and didn't speak again until the fire had burned into smoldering timbers.

"Why?" Her voice was even softer with the second question. It wasn't accusative in manner, just curious.

I thought about her question, wondering myself how it had managed to come to me letting everyone believe that I was deaf and dumb. She did not push me for an answer. She was as patient a Sunday prayer.

Like her questions, my answer was soft and short. "Still scared."

She nodded her head. "Safe," she said again, impressing upon me the significance of the word.

I smile slightly – as much as I could smile anymore. "I know." I could not explain while I was still frightened. Something inside me told me that I would never be completely safe again. The only time I had felt safe since my father died had been – ironically – with the most dangerous man in several countries. My heart still burned a hole in my chest when I thought of him. An extra wave of pain rippled through me again as I thought of the man that reminded me of Erik. I tried to push the thoughts away until they returned to the dull ache that I had grown to live with.

Helen was somber. She understood what I meant without my ever needing to say more. She slid off my lap and stood next to me. She placed a small kiss to my cheek, something she had never done before, yet felt so natural as to almost make me believe that she had done it every night before she left for her own bed.

We returned seamlessly to our contented silence. I knew without asking that Helen would keep my secret.

One day fell in fairly much just like another, so it was unusual when I went down to the kitchen just before dawn to start my work and found Ester yelling at Janette to make sure things were absolutely perfect. Janette remained uncharacteristically quiet while Ester seemed to beat every point in. I listened without acknowledgment. A piece of me felt badly for eavesdropping, but the conversation was interesting and possibly pertained to my ability to waitress without being treated like an imbecile.

"Absolutely no brown spots on the salad! Make sure that you serve him only the freshest fruit, I don't care if you have to steal from a neighbor's orchard. You make sure that you serve him no less than perfection! We can't afford for him to not like it here. If he makes a single good remark about us, we'll be the most popular hotel outside of Paris! And one word to the contrary and we'll never see another aristocrat come through those doors and you'll be the first to be searching for a new job, you hear?"

Janette nodded her head once, her lips pressed into a very thin line. I could tell she was ready to burst. I breathed a sigh of relief when Ester stormed out without seeing me.

I watched her slightly hunched retreating back, wondering what on earth she could be so upset over. I jumped and bit back and unladylike shriek when Janette's rolling pin came down on the counter with a heavy crack. Thankfully, Janette was too preoccupied to notice. I had never realized how pronounced Janette's accent was when she was upset, but I noticed when she started swearing like a sailor, making me blush.

"If that woman thinks she can just prance in 'ere and bellow at me like that, she's got anothur thing coming ta her. And it'll be my boot up her arse!"

I tried to disappear into the corner, but my foot caught on a wooden stool and I tripped backwards. I caught myself before I fell but it caused a bit of a stir and Janette whipped around, rolling pin raised like a club, her face a deep crimson color. I held my hands up in a show of surrender and Janette sighed deeply, her weapon coming down slowly when she realized it was just me. She went back to rolling out bread for her meat pies, still visibly upset, but thankfully no longer in attack mode.

She took my "deafness" as the perfect excuse to rant without actually talking to herself. She rolled her eyes in my direction and with another exaggerated sigh she explained, "There's some sort of mysterious Baron Von Something-or-another who's a big to-do from the city just arrived and he's put Ester in a tizzy. He's very particular about his likes and if he doesn't find everything up to his standard he leaves and never comes back. His opinion is highly thought of and if he says he doesn't like it, you can kiss your arse goodbye, 'cause no respectable member of society will ever go where the Baron doesn't approve. Filthy luck that he's come here. I don't see how we can give him what he wants. I heard that he hasn't said a single good thing about the last five places that he's stayed. Best start sending out John to inquire about another job and place to stay."

When I continued to just stare she took sympathy on me and pulled me to my feet, leading me over to the counter. She spread flour thinly on the counter and took her finger and began to write in the off-white powder. _Important customer_. She smoothed it over and wrote again. _Ester paranoid._ She looked at me and I nodded. She pointed to where Ester had left and with her other hand made a cutting motion across her throat several times. I was confused by this until I understood that she was trying to explain to stay away from Ester. I nodded again and began putting away clean dishes. Janette continued talking, but I was busy thinking about the news I had overheard.

I was frightened by the idea, particularly by Janette's comment of having to find another place to live. I liked my life at the hotel. I didn't want to lose a single aspect of it, not even greedy Ester. They were my world here and I was afraid if I didn't have them near me, my ability to hold all the unpleasant memories at bay would shatter. I could already feel it cracking.

What would become of Helen? Would Ester keep her, still futilely hoping that one day the little girl could pay off the mounting debt? Maybe I could use the little money I had saved up to convince Ester to let me take Helen with me and I would continue to pay her until the debt was gone. I didn't know where we would go, but I would find a way.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Okay, so I went back and fixed a ton of stuff on Chapter Twelve so please please please go back and re-read it. You'll undoubtedly miss something horribly important if you don't.**

**Okay. That was a lie. **

**Sorry. **

**I just really think you should go back and re-read it. Please? Pretty please?**

**Chapter Thirteen**

The next few days were complete chaos. We were in the height of the season and with Ester devoting nearly all her time to the special preparations for our 'special guest' it meant that the rest of us had to pick up the slack. It was amazing to me how much Ester did at the hotel that I had never noticed.

More than once I wished I really _were_ deaf so as not to hear the people chastising me for not having their meals out soon enough or letting their glass go nearly all the way to the bottom before refilling it. However, with Ester elsewhere, there was no one to tell the people dining that I couldn't understand them. The realization of that fact only further frustrated them.

I even had one lady storm into the kitchen because there were not enough potato slices in her soup. Janette quickly stopped the Lady's rant by handing the woman a knife and a bag of potatoes and told her if she didn't like to get to work. I hid a pinched smile in my shoulder as I grabbed another serving tray and left. The woman retreated to her room and did not come down the next night for supper.

When the most important customer to ever cross the threshold of the Exchequer Hotel finally did arrive, it was to much pomp and circumstance. Other guests stopped and nodded or even bowed in respect as he passed. I never saw him enter. I was too busy running an errand for Ester. She had told me to exchange the linens in the Baron's room with others that she believed looked whiter. After trying to feebly run up the stairs to the finest room, I switched the towels, though they looked identically immaculate. I shook my head as I exited the room but turned and made one last cursory glance.

Something was missing but I couldn't place what it was. I could hear Ester downstairs giving him the tour. He did not seem to be exceedingly thrilled with it because I could hear Ester trying to catch his attention as he apparently walked where he wanted.

Just as I was ready to give up and blame my faulty brain on believing something was amiss it struck me what was not there. I made it to my room panting. My body was not yet strong enough for the sudden exertion. I took a wild, red rose from the small bundle of three that Helen had given me the previous morning. I chose the one that looked the freshest. It was still slightly wilted, but it would do. I could not explain why I thought it needed the wild rose. It just seemed to fit.

I walked as quickly as I could back to the Baron's room. I laid the rose on rounded table in the center of the stately room and left just as Ester and the Baron were climbing the stairs. I ducked into the room beside it and prayed that I was not seen. Ester would be furious if the Baron believed that his room had not been finished before his arrival.

Ester said nothing that night to me and seemed to be relieved, though still high strung. The Baron stayed in his suite the rest of the day with the single companion that had accompanied him. I overheard one of the guests that I was refilling the gin tumbler that evening for say that the Baron was going over secret military information.

No one seemed to know anything concrete about this highly respected man. The most common theory seemed to be that he was from a Romanian aristocratic family and had served a secret Russian faction before hearing about the Commune's invasion and came to Paris to defend the French people. This made very little sense to me, but seeing as I could not question anyone with any possible knowledge because there seemed to be none and I was happy with being deaf, I let it be.

I felt badly for Janette. She had fixed the most beautiful meal in the history of the hotel, but the Baron did not come down to eat. His companion did, however and Ester insisted on serving him personally. No one but Ester was even allowed to be near his table. He was served the Baron's meal but the man ate only a small portion before retiring back to his room.

Ester was sure that the meal was to blame and threatened Janette that she would be fired if any guest left before they had finished their complete meal. Janette looked furious but said nothing.

It took us even longer to clean everything at the end of the night. People waited until well after Janette had begun to wash the dishes to see if the Baron would come down. When it became clear he would not, people slowly filed back to their rooms or strolled by the lake under the starlight. After that, we still had to make everything perfect for the next morning.

When we finally finished we all crawled, deflated of all energy, back to our beds. Helen kissed my cheek and stumbled off to her own bed. I was strangely thankful for that. I did not have the strength to even sit up. I fell asleep, fully clothed, before even pulling the scratchy blanket over myself.

The next morning began with a harsh start. My face stung when I opened my eyes, confused, to see Ester standing over me. Her hand came down with a resounding slap. I realized, groggily, that it must not have been the first time since I awoke with my head already ringing.

"Did. You. Put. A. Flower. In. The. Baron's. Room?" She was yelling at me so loudly that I had to resist covering my ears. She enunciated each word as its own complete sentence. She must have assumed that deafness can be cured with extremely loud volume.

She yanked the other roses from the vase on the windowsill and shook them in my face. The shaking turned to hitting and I raised my arms to cover my face. The thorns made small cuts into my exposed skin, drawing lines of blood not deep enough to drip.

Helen appeared in the doorway and flew into a frenzy at the sight of Ester repeatedly smacking me. Ester's fury frightened me more than it hurt, but Helen acted as though she saw me being tortured to death. She threw herself at Ester, landed on the inn-keeper's back and tried to pull her off me. My heart froze as Ester turned on Helen and shoved her against the wall. Something inside me seemed to switch on and every protective instinct came to full alert. I placed myself in front of Helen, arms extended to protect her. I had not moved so fast since before the Commune.

"Did you put a flower in the Baron's room?" she asked again, her voice still unnaturally shrill but not at quite the volume it had been before. I could not keep up the façade any longer. Had it just been me I would have kept silent and let her do her worst. But with Helen right there, it was not something I was willing to resist.

I opened my mouth to speak, knowing that when I did, Ester would make me leave. She would never forgive me for deceiving her. I would never see Helen again, or Janette. I would be homeless, jobless and lost, but I was willing to face that fate for the sake of Helen. I took a deep breath and looked directly in Ester's eyes.

"I did it."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: My homework is all done and my professors can't be kissed up to anymore. So I'm bored, which means good news for you the reader because I turn out chapters sooner. Lucky you. **

**And I know that only about five of you went back to re-read chapter 12. I'm telling you, a lot was added. It's like a whole different chapter. But of course I can't force you to read it. Just suggesting. ******

**Chapter Fourteen**

I felt Helen's small hand encircle my wrist. I looked back at her, still slightly shocked by her false confession.

"I put the flower in the Baron's room," she said again. Her voice was filled with so much certainty that it was astonishing. I knew why she said it. Ester couldn't turn Helen out like she could me, but I still didn't really understand why she would sacrifice herself for me. I felt Helen's other hand reach back around me and hook on my waist. I was still acting as a human shield for her; and that's when I understood. Just as I was protecting Helen from Ester's physical wrath, she was protecting me from Ester's verbal wrath. We were a team, she and I.

Ester's face turned a shade of purple and her hands shook. "Why would you do such a thing, you stupid child? Everyone knows that you never, EVER, put flowers in the Baron's room! You might as well be laying flowers on the grave of the hotel because he'll make sure that no one visits it again." Flecks of spit felt from Ester's mouth as ranted. She made a move towards us but I shifted my position to hide Helen further behind me.

I might still have been weak, but one look into my eyes told Ester all she needed to know. If she tried to her my Helen, she would lose. There is little scarier in the world than a person willing to lose everything for that sake of another.

Ester wisely re-thought her decision and left. But we both knew it was far from over. Ester had the power to still make both of our lives miserable, and it was clear she would.

When we could hear her footsteps turn a corner and fade out. I turned and gathered up Helen. Her arms were around my neck before my knees had even hit the floor. My breath was sharp and I held back a crush of emotions. I kissed her forehead again and again.

When we finally pulled away from each other Helen's eyes flashed with concern. She touched my face and I winced. There were small cuts in several places on my face from Ester hitting me with the roses before I had lifted my arms to cover my head.

They stung a little, but they didn't actually hurt. I rose and went to the bathroom to look in the cracked mirror. They looked much worse than they were. The left hand side of my face had a perfectly red hand shape. I doubted they would bruise, but I couldn't be sure.

Ester kept me out of sight of the guests for the rest of the day. I helped the housekeeper change sheets and scrub floors. Anything that she didn't want to do was left up to me. I did them without a thought of complaint. My mind was too busy planning my escape. I had enough money to last a little while but I wasn't certain if it was enough to last long enough to find a job and place to stay.

I was willing to risk it, but I would not leave without Helen. Ester was sure to have the police called if I did that. It would limit the amount of time we would have and where we could go. Because I still only had a rough idea of where exactly we were and what was close by, I was at a disadvantage.

I had contemplated everything from stealing a horse to making Janette and John accomplices and hiding out with them until the police finished searching anything close. I couldn't steal the horse because, although we could travel faster, we would be easier to track and if we should be caught I would be jailed. It wouldn't matter for how long; neither my body nor my mind could handle it. I couldn't hide with Janette because the police would be sure to search there and there was no way that she would pull them in with them. My futility was weighing heavily on me and instead of paying attention to where I was going I was just trying not to cry. I rounded a corner and collided with a hard mass. The bucket of soapy water I was carrying made me unbalanced and pulling me down. Both the bucket and I tumbled to the floor. Water spilled everywhere, soaking my worn clothes. My concentration on not crying shattered and I began to sob.

It was the first real cry I had since before almost drowning months before. The time I spent with the Commune seemed like a lifetime ago. So much had changed since then. I had been baptized by the icy waters and resurrected to a new beginning. I had thought that I could never love again, yet a little girl with brown curls and stormy eyes had stolen the pieces of my heart. I had thought I could never trust again, but my secrets were safe with Helen. When I thought there was no safe places left in the world, I discovered that there were still some places were fear could not claim hold. Even physically I had changed. My heart was fragile and weakened, my strength was pitiful but they were slowly becoming stronger. My hair was past my shoulders again, long enough to pull mostly back, even after Janette had offered to trim it for me to even it out some from my hack job. My eyes were normally not as sunken and dark as before, now that I was crying they had the opposite effect and were puffy and red. I knew that I aged in appearance. I did not look like a woman, not yet reached twenty, but rather like a woman who had seen the second decade mark come and go to be filed away with the rest. Yet, the old Christine had not been completely lost. She had hidden very well during captivity in hell, but she had not perished. She was slowly crawling back from her hiding place. I could feel it. Now it seemed to all be threatened again.

The man that I had accidently ran into bent down close to me. He righted the spilled bucked with a leather clad hand. His expensive clothing was drenched. I couldn't stop the heaving enough to even apologize.

"Please don't cry. It wasn't your fault. I wasn't watching where was going either." The stranger's apologies seemed forced, unnatural. He didn't seem to have much experience in soothing emotionally unstable women.

I could not have said anything even if I had wanted to betray my secret and begin speaking. I didn't know what to say to start with, but I also could not form any words through my tears.

Blessedly, Helen had heard my fall and come running. "Please forgive her, sir," she said in her perfectly angelic, soft voice as she stooped down to grasp my hand. "She's not well today." Her explanation was impossible to argue with and the stranger stood, clearly thankful to not have to deal with me.

He must have nodded his head because I heard no verbal reply before he turned to go. Helen uncharacteristically prolonged him, knowing that information she could pass on to Ester would likely offset her temper enough so her punishment for anything less than perfection would be less harsh. "Will the Baron be coming down for supper?" she called after him, her voice not rising much above a whisper yet still heard by the man.

"No. I do not expect he will return in time." Helen was helping me to my unsteady feet when he added, "And please tell Madam Ester that I anticipate that we shall leave tomorrow morning. She should expect to find payment waiting for her at the desk."

Helen made a small bow of acknowledgment and the man turned and left. I thanked Helen quietly as she helped me take some dirty linens from a nearby room and sop up the mess of water.

"Christine," she said softly, glancing around to make sure no one was near enough to overhear. It was the first time she had ever used my name. "we could make it if we left tonight. Ester will be too pre-occupied with the Baron. She won't realize we're gone until it's too late." I stared in disbelief. I had never heard Helen speak so many words the entire time I had known her. But more than that, I had not known how much our escape had been playing in Helen's mind as well. I thought about what she suggested and knew she was right. It was our best chance.

We both had dwelt on what would be needed and within the few minutes it took to finished with the water mess, we had a plan forged. Helen would come to my room that night when all our chores had been finished and we would fly away from the hotel forever.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thanks to those who are still reviewing. I really really enjoy hearing what everyone has to say about the chapters. If you have any suggestions or comments, I do take those into account. ******

**Chapter Fifteen**

The inhabitants of the Exchequer Hotel were sleeping comfortably by the time Helen slipped silently into my room. She had a small knapsack filled with a change of clothes for both her and her doll Ally. She also had some various provisions and saved some space for food. I had taken a carpetbag that had been left by a customer long before I had arrived at the hotel and did the same.

Like Helen, I had little clothing. I left my outfit that Ester had me wait tables in folded and set on the bed. There wouldn't be much need for it and I didn't feel right taking it, even if it had been wearable in public. The change of clothes that I arrived in had been thrown away. After all, I had worn the same outfit for months while working with the Commune and its condition was not mendable, even before my faltering through the snow and plunge into the icy lake. Janette had given me some of her old clothes that were too small for her. I had tailored them further down to fit me and it left me with three outfits. If I needed to, I could hem the skirts and size the tops down by half for Helen.

Helen had already compiled enough food to last us a week if we were careful. Neither of us ate much, so my main concern was the food spoiling before we could eat it. I piled it in our bags, placing the food that would last the longest on the bottom and layered upwards in order of how long it should last.

We worked in silence, making as little sound as possible. We kept the lantern light at its dimmest and thanked our intimate knowledge of our surroundings that we didn't stumble over things. When we had everything put together and our warmest cloaks fastened around our shoulders, I tucked the money I had earned from sewing jobs the customers had given me throughout my stay into the inside breast pocket.

I turned out the lantern and we crept soundlessly down the stairs and past the lobby. I noted with surprise that a white envelope rested on the counter with Ester's name scrawled across the center. I panicked for a moment, worried that the Baron and his friend might have seen some evidence of our flight. If they had, there was nothing that we could do about it now.

I unlocked the front door, pausing to realize that when they left, they must have had someone lock the door again behind them. It was a strange thing to have suddenly come to mind, but I dismissed it as paranoia. I peered outside and saw no movement, so I quickly waved Helen foreword and we slipped out into the cold night.

We kept our footsteps quiet until the hotel was out of sight. Then we lit the lantern again to nearly full light. We warmed our chilled hands by the flame before taking a deep breath and trudging on again.

We stopped briefly a short time later to rest and eat, but the cold quickly set in and we had to keep moving before the chill seeped into our muscles.

We could no longer continue as the sun began to creep over the tops of the trees. We looked for anyone awake that we could beg some warm room of. We still had not reached a town, but we were finally getting into some sparse homesteads. An elderly lady was on her front porch, watching two small dogs roll in the dewy grass. She called out to us as we stumbled past, nearly falling from exhaustion.

"Hello! You there! What are you doing out here this early in the morning? You'll catch your death colds." Her voice was kind, but strong. She reminded me somewhat of a sweeter Madam Giry in twenty years.

Helen and I stopped to catch our breaths and I replied with a practiced lie. "We have been travelling all night. My husband is after us. He hurt us and I'm taking my daughter and fleeing." There was little point in trying to continue the illusion of deafness. It was actually a good thing to leave that behind. Perhaps it would throw anyone looking for us off our trail just long enough to slip away.

"Well, then, you had better come inside and warm yourself. Looks like you're both about to drop. Come on, I've got some tea brewing on the stove. Come come."

Under other circumstances, I would have put on an air of humility and denied her help, but Helen and I both were shivering horribly and our bodies were too weary to continue. I nodded gratefully and followed her into the cozy house with the two shaggy dogs trailing behind us.

In very little time I was sitting on the single bed in the house, with my head lolling against the wall, a steaming cup of cheap tea in hand and Helen sleeping with her head on my lap. I told the old woman, Iris, about my fake husband for a while, until I grew too sleepy and she ceased her questioning, accepting what I had told her as fact. I found my story closely paralleling some of my time with the Commune. It was a wonder she didn't catch on.

Iris pledged to keep us safe for as long as we needed to stay with her. She also promised to keep our presence hidden by any who might come looking for us. We wouldn't be able to stay any longer than it took us to get warmed up again and our strength to return, but it was a thoughtful gesture.

It took us much longer than I had wanted or expected to rejuvenate. Once I had slipped off to sleep, I did not wake again until late afternoon. I hadn't realized until I stopped how tired I was. When I opened my eyes, I found myself lying under the blankets of the bed. It felt so nice and warm that I wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. But a strange noise caught my attention and I sat up, rubbing my eyes as my mind adjusted to reality again.

Helen sat cross-legged on the floor not far away. The two dogs were vying for position to lick every inch of skin on her smiling face. I had never seen her smile so brightly as when she tried to figure out how best to pet both wiggling animals at once.

"She's a good one with those beasts," Iris' voice sounded from somewhere off to my side. I jumped and pressed a hand to my heart. She instantly came to comfort me. "Oh that's right, dear. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's alright," I croaked out and thanked her as she handed me a bowl of vegetable stew. I ate it with vengeance against my thundering hunger. Helen finally seemed to notice I was awake and left the dogs to be distracted by chasing each other's tails.

"From her garden," she said proudly as she sat next to me on the bed, pointing to the colorful mixture I was devouring. "That's right," added Iris. "that little girl of yours is quite the helper. She knew just which ones to pull and then helped me cook them."

I thought of all the things Helen had done at the hotel for Ester and mused that picking vegetables from a garden were probably one of the easiest things she had ever done to help.

Iris proved to be a very incredible woman. For as long as someone was willing to listen, she told story after story about everything. She told us about her husband who had passed away thirteen years before, and how he built the very house they were sitting in. She had promised him to keep it for as long as she could. "Didn't expect him to go before me, though," she paused to add with a twinkle in her eye. "If I had known that, I wouldn't have promised to watch out for his two mutts too. Shoulda buried them with him."

We listened until the sky lit up with the colors of the setting sun. I had lost track of the time completely. I meant to be gone long before then. When I conveyed my thoughts to Helen and Iris it was met by unhappy looks from both. "Just stay the night," said Iris. "There's plenty of room on the floor and you get can started first thing in the morning."

"We should really get going. We've tarried too long as it is. Besides," I added. "I'm not the least bit tired after sleeping all morning." Helen looked at me with sad, but agreeing eyes. We both knew that we needed to be further away, despite how much we wanted to stay.

When we finally convinced Iris of our position, she reluctantly agreed before her face lit up with a thought. "I just remembered! I've got something that'll help you. Follow me." With that, she stood and made her way out the back door. Helen and I exchanged a look but got up and did as we were told.

She led us to the side of the small stable barn in the back of the house. "Something else my husband left me before he took off after all the young skinny woman in the sky – er, before he died," she corrected to our confused expressions. She pointed to a pile of wood, held together by a thread and a prayer.

"I don't have much use for a wagon now. It's pretty ancient, but it'll get you farther than you can get on foot."

"That's very sweet of you, Iris, but we don't have a horse." I didn't want to be rude, but it was going to be obvious very quickly that it wouldn't actually be of any use to us.

Iris smacked herself on her wrinkled forehead. "Of course, of couse. What am I thinking?" She opened the barn door to reveal a small inside with a single stall. In the stall was a ragged looking brown mare, flicking flies off her spotted fur with her tail. "She's about as old as that wagon out there, but she's got some miles left in her hooves. I haven't had a use for her since I started needing to only plant for one. She needs one last adventure and I can think of nothing nobler than helping the two of you."

"Oh, Iris," I protested. "we could never take your horse from you. How would you get into town to buy supplies? Or what if you got hurt and needed help? You must keep your horse."

"Nonsense," she replied with a wave of her hand. "I can get one of the neighbors if I need to. Don't deprive an old woman of a chance to help."

I couldn't argue with her. She had a response for every counter. Finally, I relented and accepted her generous offer. She clapped her withered hands together like a child. "Good! Now, my littlest dear, you go inside and grab that basket of cookies on the oven while your mum and I get Genny here hitched up."

In a surprisingly short amount of time, we were all ready to go, with our bags in the back, snuggled next to a large quilt that Iris had insisted upon us taking along. We hugged Iris, thanking her repeatedly for her generous hospitality. We got into the front of the wagon, the well-used leather straps of the harness in my hands.

The sun had just slipped behind the hills when we started off. I was surprised that the wagon held together, it creaked and groaned at every turn of the wheel. As Iris had said we would, we went much further than we would have gone on foot, but I worried that it wouldn't be fast enough. When Genny could go on no longer, I tied her loosely to a tree where she could eat and rest, then we climbed into the back, pulled the comforter over us and let our bags serve as pillows.

We woke a few hours later, ate and then began again. This routine served us perfectly for three days. We were able to avoid the smaller towns where someone might remember us and headed in the direction of a larger town where we might go unnoticed.

The Commune had taken me south of Paris before Richard had us cutting east towards Switzerland. I was finally able to figure that we had ended up closer to Italy. I spoke only limited Italian and my miniscule knowledge was from the few Italian pieces we had performed at the Opera. Even then, I didn't know what we were singing half the time. I hoped that if we stayed in well populated areas once there that enough people would know either French or Swedish. It was the best chance we had of disappearing forever.

On the fourth day, we decided it would be best to give Ginny a prolonged rest and risked staying the night at a small inn. It took our money down to a pittance. After getting Helen settled down I asked at the desk if there was anything local that I could do to earn some extra money, but the young woman assured me that I would find nothing.

On my way back up, I stopped on the stairs, just to the left of the desk, but invisible to the girl, to consider our position. We had enough money left to buy food for maybe two more days, but then I would have to find something to make us more money. As I sat with my head in my hands, I couldn't help but overhear as the girl I had just spoken to called back to another person to come talk to her.

Another female voice soon answered and they began conversing in excited tones. "I think that woman is staying here tonight," said the girl. The other voice asked for clarification, which the young woman was all too happy to give. "The woman that that guy came in here yesterday to ask about, I think she's checked in here. She just asked me what she could do to earn some money."

"What should we do?"

"He said he was coming back tonight. Do you think we should tell him?"

"Did he say what he wanted with her?"

"Just that it was very important that he finds her."

"I say, hold out until he offers you some kind of reward, and then tell him where to find her."

I listened with horror, unable to say or do anything. These women were talking about selling me out to make some money as though my life mattered nothing to them. When the other woman finally retreated back to wherever she came from and the girl at the desk began humming absently, I mustered the motivation to creep up the stairs, trying to not make a sound. I had to get Helen and get out of there as soon as possible.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Because it's been so long since I posted the last chapter, I'm including the last part of chapter 15 to help ease you into chapter 16. I'm hoping to get as much written during this Christmas break as I can, but no promises. The story should move along fairly quickly now. Thanks for reading and Merry Christmas!**

On the fourth day, we decided it would be best to give Ginny a prolonged rest and risked staying the night at a small inn. It took our money down to a pittance. After getting Helen settled down I asked at the desk if there was anything local that I could do to earn some extra money, but the young woman assured me that I would find nothing.

On my way back up, I stopped on the stairs, just to the left of the desk, but invisible to the girl, to consider our position. We had enough money left to buy food for maybe two more days, but then I would have to find something to make us more money. As I sat with my head in my hands, I couldn't help but overhear as the girl I had just spoken to called back to another person to come talk to her.

Another female voice soon answered and they began conversing in excited tones. "I think that woman is staying here tonight," said the girl. The other voice asked for clarification, which the young woman was all too happy to give. "The woman that that guy came in here yesterday to ask about, I think she's checked in here. She just asked me what she could do to earn some money."

"What should we do?"

"He said he was coming back tonight. Do you think we should tell him?"

"Did he say what he wanted with her?"

"Just that it was very important that he finds her."

"I say, hold out until he offers you some kind of reward, and then tell him where to find her."

I listened with horror, unable to say or do anything. These women were talking about selling me out to make some money as though my life mattered nothing to them. When the other woman finally retreated back to wherever she came from and the girl at the desk began humming absently, I mustered the motivation to creep up the stairs, trying to not make a sound. I had to get Helen and get out of there as soon as possible.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

I tiptoed up the stairs as quietly as possible. When I made it back to the room, Helen was already sound asleep. I considered waking her up and climbing out the window, but she looked so exhausted. There was a soft smile on her face that I could not bear to disrupt. According to the girl at the desk, she would not tell whoever had been asking about her of her presence there unless offered some financial reward. That might buy them some time. Ester must have hired someone to find us, or the police were not announcing themselves as such any longer. Either way, I didn't want anyone knowing who we were.

Crawling into bed next to Helen, I wrapped my arms around her and promised myself that we would be long gone before anyone discovered us there.

It was dark when I opened my eyes again. We had slept in far longer than I had meant to allow ourselves. I roused Helen and briefly told her why we needed to hurry. Like a pair of expert thieves, we were ready to go in a matter of a few minutes.

While Helen went to get Ginny ready, I made a point to stop by the front desk and offhandedly mention that we would be traveling back towards Paris. If they believed that, it might throw whoever was on our trail off enough to let us sneak into Italy. Once there, I could get a job as a seamstress or something that did not require much communication with people until I could learn enough Italian to function in society.

The girl at the front desk's eyes lit up with the information and as I turned to walk out the door, she scampered off. No doubt to tell her friend what she had learned. I grabbed two apples out of the basket sitting on the front desk before I left. Helen was waiting for me with everything already ready.

Not sure if the ladies inside were watching us or not, I made it a point to head back in the direction we had come from before switching back a few streets over and making our way out of the town. We lit the kept the lanterns dark for as long as we could, trying to preserve our limited oil supply and wanting to remain hidden in the dark, but soon I could see nothing and we were forced to shed some light on our path.

Past the next town, where we did not stop, there were several wooden signs, fashioned into arrows of sorts that pointed off in several directions based on what was written upon them. I searched until I saw one that sounded vaguely familiar. I was fairly certain that Aosta, the third name down, lay on the other side of the border. From there, maybe we could travel further East to Milan or Verona, or more south towards Rome. I headed in the direction of Aosta, praying I was right and our safety lay only a few more days away.

Ginny seemed to be in good spirits after the rest, so we kept going until dawn began to break across the sky and Helen stirred awake. We each ate our apples and enjoyed the scenery. The day at the inn had put us in a relaxed mood and distracted from the mundane experience of travelling.

The next few days we made much progress, passing more and more towns were Italian was spoken more than French. We spent the last of our money on bread and we were forced to stop in a town called Frienta. It was neither a small nor a large town. I hoped it would be just big enough that our presence would go mostly unnoticed, but small enough that whoever Ester had hired to track us wouldn't bother to stop at.

I stopped at several inns, asking about work in exchange for a room. The owner of a small bed and breakfast finally took pity on me and agreed to let me cook and clean for free rent. When I told Helen, she asked that I speak to the owner, an older man by the name of Mr. Vincencio, and ask him if she could work for a small amount of money. After assuring Mr. Vincencio of her capability, he finally agreed, but admitted that her pay would be minimal. Business had been slow since the war.

There was a small barn that we could keep Ginny in on the condition that if a guest arrived and needed the space, Ginny would be tied up outside. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than we had been doing.

After a few days of working and staying at the inn, the anxiety began to dissipate. Mr. Vincencio seemed like a genuinely nice man. He was short and thin, with a grey hair and a small, neatly trimmed moustache. He had said that it was always his wife's dream to own their own little bed and breakfast, but she had died only a year after it had opened from childbirth. He had kept the place in memory of her and their child who had also died. He had been alone for the last 20 years, with only the occupants of the place as company.

One morning, Mr. Vincencio asked me if I could run some errands, but when I confessed that I spoke no Italian, he laughed merrily and shook his head.

"Fine, fine. You stay here and watch the counter. I'll give you list of things to say in Italian if they speak no French, okay? You can read, no?"

I told him that I had been well tutored and after reading through the list of phrases, he seemed pleasantly surprised by my pronunciation. Being in the opera had helped more than I had thought and I picked up on the words with fair ease.

I taught Helen all the words in Italian that I learned and, though she still remained silent around others, we sometimes practiced it together at night. With Helen's small pay that she insisted we use to get to Italy, it was taking us a while to save enough money. We had a long discussion about our situation, weighing our options, and finally decided that we would stay with Mr. Vincencio until we caught wind of being tracked again. By then, we hoped to have enough money to not only get safely into Italy, but maybe even have a little left over so start a life with.

We grew comfortable in our arrangement and Mr. Vincencio began to place me in charge of more and more things until I was running the desk and kitchen single-handedly and Helen was in sole charge of the cleanliness of the establishment.

Christmas was celebrated a month later with a small gift exchange between the three of us. Mr. Vincencio had given both Helen and I a little extra money for the holiday. I spent mine on a small necklace for Helen and both Helen and I pooled our little money to buy a new picture frame for Mr. Vincencio to replace the broken one he kept the picture of his late wife in. Helen bought me a pair of ladies gloves and Mr. Vincencio bought Helen and I each a book. For Helen it was a story book filled with Fairy Tales and for me it was a book on learning to speak Italian. I accepted it with an amused smile.

Days rolled slowly into each other as time went on, the year changed into the next and soon the coldness began to dissipate ever so slowly. The snow did not melt away from the ground, but it stopped snowing every day and the sun no longer constantly hid behind a gray sky.

I studied my Italian with fervor, practicing it with Helen and Mr. Vincencio until he decided that it would be best if we threw away the use of French at all and communicate solely in Italian. It doubled my ability to speak it, and though I often stumbled through long words or phrases, Mr. Vincencio waited patiently for me to complete my thoughts, as did the few guests that came through. I found most everyone to be very patient with me and it greatly increased my comfort, though not enough as yet to make friends of the acquaintances that I had come to know from the town.

One day, as January neared its end, a man came to the bed and breakfast. I would have thought his visit just the same as any other man's, except that he looked at me in such a peculiar way. I studied his face as best I could without appearing rude. I did not recognize him. I was sure that I would have remembered his piercing blue eyes and blonde hair. I greeted him in Italian and he faltered through a response in the same. Finally, with a sheepish smile, he asked if I spoke French. I easily fell back into the language and we conversed easily after that.

I showed him to his room at the top of the stairs on the second floor. I informed him of when breakfast would be and asked if there was anything special that he would like to have.

"You'll think I'm foolish," he said. "But I noticed you don't wear a wedding ring. If you're not married, I would like to take you to dinner tonight."

"I meant if there was anything special you would like for breakfast," I said, blushing violently.

"Yes. I know. But frankly, I could eat horse oats and be happy tomorrow if it means that I can eat with you tonight."

"I don't think that would be a good idea," I confessed. I had never thought about having a man ask to spend time with me. I was far from the young ballerina who had been given roses by adoring young men. Whenever I looked in the mirror, I felt that I had aged decades rather than years. I had never found myself beautiful, but never more had I thought my appearance so plain and unattractive.

"Please?" he asked, his big blue eyes pleading like a puppy begging.

"I have a daughter I have to think about. I should be here with her."

"You have a daughter?" My heart sank a little as I realized that I would probably spend the rest of my life receiving responses such as that.

"How old is she?" he asked, seemingly intrigued, though not accusing.

"She's almost nine."

"Quite old enough to stay here for an hour. I'm certain you deserve some time of your own. It must be such work to take care of a child all on your own."

"No, actually, she's no work at all. She practically raises herself." I realized the trap I had fallen into just a second too late. His smile was dazzling as he took my hand and pressed his lips to it.

"Then you are out of excuses to refuse to me. Tonight at six, I'll meet you at the front desk." There was no question this time and he was right. I was out of excuses. I nodded my head and turned away, embarrassed and happy.

When I told Helen about the date she was so excited for me that it erased all my worries until the time came around to get ready and I realized I had nothing to wear. I still had all my old clothes and there wasn't a single one that didn't have a patch or stains somewhere on it. Between the two of us, Helen and I picked out the one that I could most easily hide the wear by sitting.

He met me precisely at six at the front desk, looking very nice in a simple set of black trousers and a white shirt. We walked to the restaurant. It wasn't far away at all and I think he just wanted an excuse for me to hold his arm.

We discussed many things, though I tried to keep the conversation on him, lest I get lost in his blue eyes and tell him something I would regret. Strangely though, I found myself enjoying his company, but the only attraction was to the feeling I got from being treated like a lady again and having a handsome man smile at me. I realized, sadly, that there was no attraction to the man across from me, despite his charming way or good looks.

I think he realized it too, but that didn't stop him from continuing to act like a gentleman. When we returned to the inn, we said our goodnights and he asked if he could see me again the next time he came through town. I told him he could, but somehow doubted that he would ever stop by again.

Helen begged me to tell her every detail about that night, and I did so without sparing so much as word that was spoken. She agreed too, that a relationship was not to be. I realized then that, in a way, I could have doomed her to a life without ever knowing a father. I knew she would never blame me for it, but it was true. Few men would even consider being with me, not only for my age and appearance, but for having a child out of wedlock. I would never confess that Helen was not my true daughter, so I had little choice but to let everyone believe that I had been with a man outside of marriage. Even if there was one that could look past all that, I feared that I would never have feelings for him. If I was even capable of loving a man again, it would take a long time. By then, Helen may be already grown, or indifferent to a father figure.

We did not speak of the dinner again. Though I sensed that Helen wanted to broach the subject several times, she remained silent about it; no doubt waiting until she wouldn't risk it making me feel sad.

I had no expectations of seeing my romantic stranger again. So when Mr. Vincencio informed me a little more than a week later that he had returned and wished to see me, I was taken aback. I left the soup simmering on the stove and the bread rising.

His smile was the same and I felt that brief remembrance of what it was like to be a normal woman. Or, at least, as normal as I could have ever been.

"Hello. Listen, I know that you have no feelings for me. It was quite obvious. No, please, you don't have to say anything. But I enjoyed your company so much that, I was hoping I could take you out for dinner one more time. Strictly as a friendly companionship."

I took my time to weigh the possible outcomes. When I determined that he was sincere and that the worst that could come of an evening together was a nice meal, I agreed. He seemed relieved and said that he would have a carriage waiting for me to take me to the best restaurant that he knew of.

I hated to do it, but I wore the same dress as before. Right on time, he was waiting for me at the front desk. He was dressed much more formally than last time and I felt terribly underdressed, though he assured me that I looked beautiful.

The carriage that was waiting for us was grander than any I had seen since my time at the opera house. It was blacker than marble and as smooth as though it were made of glass. The interior was a plush, deep crimson velvet and was pulled by an equally black and magnificent stallion.

Once inside and on our way, I couldn't help myself but to ask him how it was he could afford such a luxurious carriage. He laughed slightly with a hidden mirth and said, "The war turned most men into paupers. But to a few very smart men," he said with a wink. "it turned them into princes."

I thought it was an interesting explanation, but chose not to delve further into the subject. I didn't want to hear anything about the war or the Commune. I wanted to put those events as far behind me as I possibly could.

He produced a bottle of Champaign and two glasses from a little compartment under the seat. He poured one for me and one for himself.

"You are not trying to get me drunk before dinner, are you?" I asked good naturedly, taking a sip.

He laughed. "Not to worry, my dear. This has little more alcohol than water. I do not think it would be possible for you to become drunk of it even if you consumed the entire bottle."

I smiled and continued sipping from the glass and staring out the window, letting myself relax into the cushions.

"Where is this restaurant you are taking me to?" I asked finally after realizing that we had travelled far outside the limits of even the next town over.

"It's a little further away. We should be there soon, however." He poured me half a glass more of the lovely Champaign before stowing it away again. I drank it slightly faster than a lady should. It made me slightly nervous to be that far away from Helen, though I felt no threat of danger.

By the time I realized that I was drifting asleep, I also realized that my companion's glass remained full from the first time that he had poured it and he bore a very regretful look on his face. I meant to object, or ask what he had done, but an unnatural force pushed my consciousness down into a deep sleep and I was helpless to resist.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: As we near the end of our story, I just wanted to remind everyone that there is an alternate ending that I will be posting at the conclusion of the story. I foresee there being two more chapters after this one. Of course, I have been known to be talked into an extra chapter or two if requested with enough flattery and pleading. Just saying.

**Chapter Seventeen**

When I woke, I was lying in a magnificent bed, adorned with cherry wood and golden etched leaves. I thought perhaps that I had strayed into a lovely dream and I languished the soft coverlet and firm yet soft mattress that hugged to my body like the ghost of a lost lover. As my dream slowly continued, my thoughts began to waken. It was then I remembered why I had fallen asleep in the first place. I sat bolt upright in the large, opulent bed, incensed. I threw back to covers and gasped as I looked down and found myself in only a chemise. What made it worse, however, was that it was not _my_ chemise. It was much too clean and, if I wasn't mistaken, made of satin.

Too furious to take pleasure in the luxurious feel of the satin brushing against my skin, I ignored the rest of the grandeur of the room in my search for my clothes. I found instead an emerald green dress draped across the back of ornate black chair. I was appalled at the thought of wearing clothes that the lying bastard had picked out for me, but realized that it would be more foolish to walk around in only a chemise. I reluctantly pulled it on, slightly relieved that it was not corseted and I did not have to fumble around with strings and cinches on my own. The dress seemed tailored to fit a woman almost my exact size, though perhaps only slightly bigger.

I grudgingly admitted to myself that it did feel wonderful to wear such a fine dress, though I detested myself the moment I thought it. As soon as I had the chance to get my own clothes back, I would be happy to cast this rich fabric aside. The only way I would own such beautiful clothes was if I had worked to get it, not because some man had given it as a peace offering for kidnapping me for no apparent reason.

I knew that the door to the room would be locked, why would he take me hostage, only to leave the door open so I could walk right out? So I did not even try to open it. Instead, I sat in the black chair with my arms crossed and plotted how I was going to get revenge on my mystery suitor. My thoughts eventually strayed to Helen and I hoped that she was safe. I was worried that she might try to come find me, but I doubted Mr. Vincencio would allow that. He seemed like a man who would keep her safely waiting for my return. And I would return. I would not desert her like everyone else in her life had done, whether intentional or not.

After a while, I went to the window to look out at my prison yard. I appeared to be at least two levels up, if not more. I pressed my face to the glass to look around. What little I noticed was that I was in a very large estate constructed entirely of red brick. It appeared to be quite beautiful at one time, but had since fallen into neglect. No doubt because of the war. There was a silhouette of a once grand garden that seemed to have a great expanse to it, though it was difficult to tell since everything was still covered in a blanket of snow. There were several smaller houses off to the sides that I assumed were servants' quarters. I wondered if I was intended to be used a servant in this place. I did not even know why I had been brought to this place, or where it was, much less what his intentions were with me. Not that it mattered much, I did not plan on being held captive for long. I was resourceful and I would pull on every minuscule piece of knowledge I had to escape his grasp and return to Helen.

There was a light knock at the door, but I did not answer it, nor turn to see who it was when the door opened inward. There was a long pause before I heard him speak. "It's a pity we can't see this house in the Spring. I would bet there would be flowers of all colors and a fountain in the middle. I'm sure this place has had its share of beautiful parties with beautiful woman, such as yourself. It's a shame that the Baron dislikes things like that. You would steal the breath from everyone to see you in the midst of all that."

I whirled around to face my captor. "What did you say?"

He paused, as though unsure what I was asking. "He doesn't like flowers and parties. One of his many eccentricities. He's more than a little introverted and prefers being left alone."

"Whose house is this?" I asked, taking a step closer to him.

"It is the Baron Drogrim's house," he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. When I continued to glare at him, he continued, a little less like he was talking to an idiot and more like he was speaking to a child. "It's one of his many temporary homes. He bought them during the war, all over the country. He kept them from being destroyed, gave their owners enough money to leave the country and then later he plans on selling them at an outstanding profit. There are many people who would sell their souls to own one of the Baron Drogrim's houses."

The name sounded like a gong in my head and I ignored all things else that we was saying. Drogrim was the very Baron that stayed at the Exchequer Hotel. The one that Ester had made such a fuss over. Suddenly, I felt like I was right back there, cornered and frightened as my secrets came spilling out.

"Why would he want to bring me here?" I asked cautiously.

He looked at me confused. "I assumed you would know."

"Why would I-" But my words were cut off by the appearance of another man.

"That's quite enough," he stated with an authoritative air. "You may go, the Baron has your reward waiting for you." My blue eyed bastard nodded and made an awkward bowing gesture towards me before turning and leaving.

"You," I said, still slightly shocked. "You were the one I ran into at the hotel and I spilled water all over myself."

"And me too," he said with a kind smile. I cannot believe I did not recognize you, but you did look much different then I had imagined and you kept your face so well hidden. Of course, we weren't expecting you to be mute either. You hid in plain sight."

"What are you talking about?" I asked indignantly.

"The Baron has been searching for you for a long time Christine."

Panic must have reeled across my face for he took a concerned step forwards. I hadn't heard anyone use my real name in so long that it almost sounded foreign to me.

"Why is he searching for me?" I managed to ask.

"Perhaps I had better let him explain that to you."

"No! I want to know now! I demand to be told what is going on, and then I am leaving. I am going back to my daughter and we are leaving France."

"As you wish. You are not a prisoner here. Though, I feel I must inform you that you are no longer in France. You are in Italy. Not far outside Turin as a matter of fact."

I stood there stunned by his words. How long had I been asleep? I naturally slept only a few hours a day, but because I was certain there were some sort of sleeping concoction used in the champagne, I had no way to know how long I had been out.

"Why was the Baron trying to find me?" I asked in a shaking voice.

"He wants to make sure that you are safe and happy. He cares for you very much."

"I don't even know him!" I cried, trying with difficulty to reign in my growing hysteria at the situation.

"I think you will find that you do, though not by his name. Come, I will introduce you to him." With that, he turned and walked back out the door. I stared after him, until his footsteps echoed and disappeared. I walked through the open door, looking around carefully. The man, I had never heard his name, was nowhere to be seen. I heard some lingering footsteps near the bottom of the stairs, so I followed them. But once there, I could hear no more.

Most doors were closed, so I wandered past them, glancing only in the ones that were open. The interiors of those rooms had furniture covered with sheets to keep the dust off. I saw no one else as I walked through the open hallways.

At the end of one corridor, there was a single door cracked open. I felt pulled to the room for a reason that I could not identify. I was almost in a trance as I pushed the door open. My vision swam as I beheld the room in front of me. Lying on the pristine white bed was a shock of deep, royal blue. I reached out my hand to touch the rich material but it was trembling so greatly that I pulled my hand back. I was suddenly back to a day that seemed like a lifetime ago. I viewed my memory as I might imagine someone else's life. I saw the young girl with large, innocent brown eyes and a dancer's grace try on the dress with the silver ribbon lining. This had been my dress, warn only once on my birthday when I had a mother and sister and a man who loved me.

I wiped a tear from my eyes and a sparkle on the table by the bed caught on my eye. There was the diamond necklace and earrings that I had worn with it. I would have recognized them instantly. They were the only material possessions I had of my mother's. They were lying in a velvet lined box next to the cracked picture frame of my father. I thought they had been lost forever, yet here they were, waiting for me. I sat down next to the table and cried. It didn't matter who the mysterious Baron Drogrim was. He was an angel to me.

I could suddenly remember everything that I had heard about the Baron while at the Exchequer Hotel. He emerged in recognition during the war. His past was unknown, and though he seemed cold, his actions were usually generous and kind. Finally, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place as she heard Janette's Irish accented words replay in my head.

"_He keeps to himself, thank the good Lord. Heard he was wounded in the war and has scars all over his body. Glad I don't have to see that. It would scare me off my head."_

"You have no idea how difficult it was to find those, but I vowed to track down everything that was taken and return it to you." My heart stopped at the sound of his voice. Lifting my head and wiped at my eyes, I stood to see him. The tears that refused to go away made his silhouette blurry but I could clearly see his tall figure, leaning slightly to the side as he balanced some of his weight on a walking cane. He wore his hat pulled down at an angle, casting one side of his face in shadow.

"You look stunning, Christine. Truly, this is how you were meant to be."

My brain was trying to process as fast as it could. My confusion was slightly beneficial because I forgot to cry and my eyes dried. Sure enough, there before me was a man who fit all those descriptions, yet it was not who I had let myself hope it to be.

"It is wonderful to see you, Christine."

I stumbled over my words, trying to force a smile, though none would come.

"It is good to see you as well, Richard. Or do you still go by Commander Bruence?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

"You look disappointed," Richard said, ignoring my rhetorical question.

"I guess – I thought you were someone else. But that's not even possible." I could feel the red burning under my cheeks and I turned my head to avoid him seeing. I almost felt ashamed that I had allowed myself to hope for the impossible.

"You thought I was _him_, didn't you?" He hung his head slightly, to hide his own shame for his former actions. There was no need to clarify who the _him_ was. I had confessed everything about Erik to Richard and he, in return, confessed everything to me about how he had been the one to rip me from my angel's side.

"Forgive me, Richard. I don't know who I am anymore. I've lost myself."

He took a tentative step towards me. When I dared to look, I could see the torment in his eyes. "Let me help you, Christine. I know that I can never make up for what happened – for what I did – but there is nothing in this world that will prevent me from trying." There was an awkward pause in which we both stood there waiting for the other to make the next move. Finally, Richard took a step back and I breathed just a little easier. I didn't harbor him any ill will, but I wasn't anywhere close to being ready for physical contact. "I will leave you to your memories, but I would be honored to escort you to dinner this evening," he said, backing out of the room with a small bow. He left the door cracked open just slightly.

I took my mother's necklace and my father's picture and sat down on the bed, cradling them both to me. I remained in that state until a maid appeared a short time later at the door and softly cleared her throat, informing me that she was there to help me get ready for dinner.

The maid started pulling things out of the closet and setting things on the dresser. As she went about her work, I stood, looking at the priceless, beautiful, blue gown that Erik had so loving picked out for me. It soon became apparent that it was the dress intended for me to wear, as the maid pulled out everything except another dress.

I let the straps of the green dress slide down my arms, the weight of the material pulled by gravity until it pooled at my feet, leaving my skin susceptible to the chill of the air. I let the flesh of my exposed arms tremble in protest. It gave me something to focus on so that I did not go insane from thinking of how close Richard had been the whole time.

The maid cinched me into the corset, pulling the strings so tightly that I thought it a wonder they didn't snap from the strain. I had forgotten what it felt like to wear a corset made with real whale boning. I gasped several times, trying to recall how to breathe.

"Do you want me to loosen the laces?" The maid asked with concern. I shook my head and prayed that I would either pass out or somehow force the air into my lungs again. I closed my eyes and concentrated on filling only the upper half of my lungs. It seemed to work for the moment.

"I don't think I can put that on," I confessed to the girl, as she pulled the dress from the bed and started to unlace it in the back so it would be easier for me to slip into.

"But the Baron insists, ma'am," the girl said with a hint of panic in her voice. Clearly, she was worried of the consequences if I came out in anything but that dress. I tried to tell myself that it wouldn't be so bad to wear it again. After all, I had only worn it once; and perhaps the fact that they dress had been traced down at all was a sign that I was supposed to move on. I could feel my heart flip in objection, but I stubbornly refused to listen. Ultimately, it was the look in the girl's eyes that had me relent.

By the time that she was finished cinching me in, smoothing me down and bedazzling me with my mother's jewelry, I was already feeling more feminine than I had thought possible to feel again. She sat me down in front of a large mirror and applied soft colors to my cheeks and lips, and a light blue and silver powder to my eyelids, giving them a smoky shadowed appearance that somehow still managed to match the dress. She pulled my hair back into a twisting mess of elegant curls.

"There," the girl said with a satisfied smile. "I think you're all ready. And just in time for dinner too."

"Thank you," I said, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I had the overwhelming feeling that everything was about to change, but I was comforted by knowing that I still possessed some control over those changes. I would not leave Helen behind, and I did not want her to live in poverty, but neither was I sure that I was willing to accept whatever Richard had to offer. Whatever I might have felt towards him, or could have learned to feel towards him given enough time, I could never look at him without thinking of Erik. I would always be in love with a man who existed as a phantom in life and a ghost in my heart. Richard reminded me too much of him, not just physically because of his injury, but he had the same sense of duty and need to protect.

"You look like a queen," she said, trying to cheer me up.

I sighed, letting my hands trace my silhouette like a collector would a doll. "I may be dressed as a queen, but I am still a plain spinster underneath. This is a costume and I am a prop, it is only fitting that I play my role."

I smiled at her confused expression and walked out the door, taking as deep of a breath as I possibly could and summoning up my courage.

"You look incredible," Richard said as he greeted me in the hallway. I knew that I should place my hand on his arm, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

"I often wondered what had happened to you, Richard," I said, hoping that the conversation would remove some of the awkwardness. "I admit that I am more than surprised at your dramatic change. I don't understand how you did it though."

"How I did what?" he asked skeptically.

"Everything that you did – for everyone."

He stopped walking and looked at me quizzically. "If you're referring to the dress and jewels, it was only for you. Well, and the various people that I paid inordinate amounts of money to in order to retrieve them," he added with a chuckle.

"No, that's not what I meant. Please don't misunderstand me, I am very thankful for that, more than I could ever tell you. But I am talking about everything else. I have heard so many stories about how many people you have helped and I -"

"Christine," he stopped me, putting a hand on my arm, only to remove it just as quickly. "Who is it you think I am?" he asked, pursing his lips.

I smiled self-consciously. "The Baron Drogrim, of course."

He let out a long breath. "I was afraid of that." He broke our unspoken rule of not touching and took both my hands in his, looking at them. "I should have told you right away. I mean, I meant to tell you first thing, it was just that seeing you knocked the words from me and I was just so excited to see you that I forgot to tell you. It's ridiculous of me, and I apologize."

"Richard, what are you saying? Please just speak plainly to me. I'm in no mood for any more riddles or unanswered questions."

"I'm not the Baron, Christine. I was just hired by him to recover your things."

I pulled my hands from his so that he could not feel the tremors that had begun to run through me. "I don't understand. If you're not the Baron, than who is?"

He was clearly reluctant to drop my hand as he gestured outward. I realized for the first time, too absorbed by the information to notice before, that we were standing at the top of the grand staircase. A man was walking towards the base of the steps. His feet made no sound against the marble floor and his black flowing cape seemed to envelope him with a sense of foreboding, giving him the appearance of a gliding shadow.

My heart stopped mid-beat, only to thunder back to life with a fury. I didn't have to see his masked face; I didn't have to hear his deep, resonating voice or feel his wavering but passionate touch. My very soul revived and pulled my body towards him of. My angel of music. The spirit to my voice. My Erik.

I walked in a trance down the stairs. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he stopped and I responded accordingly. We both stood there, locked in each other's eyes, both waiting to wake up. He made a single movement towards me and the next thing I knew my body was racing down the stairs, my feet running of their own accord. In the time it took him to take a single step up, I had flown down the length of the stairs and threw myself into his waiting embrace.

His arms held me so tightly that I thought I would break, but I didn't care. It wasn't close enough. I wanted to meld into his body and never leave. I buried my face into his neck and cried, far too many emotions poured from me to even acknowledge a single one. He wrapped one arm around my waist, lifting me to him. His other hand tangled in my hair and held me pressed to him.

I realized, as my own sobs were subsiding, that he was choking back tears of his own. I had only seen him cry once before. It was a sight that had broken my heart so completely that I had vowed I never wanted to see it again, but under the circumstances, it was the sweetest sight in the world to me.

He didn't let me go for a long time, and I was more than fine to just let him hold him, and I him. When he did finally pull away, it was a very small distance. His hands cupped my face, thumbs brushing away my tears and he kissed my forehead.

"Is it really you?" he asked softly.

"Me?" I asked with a choked laugh. "You died. How can you be here? How can this be real?"

He laughed, a most joyous sound. "It is a very long story."

"So long as you promise to not let me go, I'll listen to every word a thousand times."

He pressed me to him again, and held me as he spoke. "I remember nothing about my injuries, only you, caring for me. I woke up in the water, though perhaps that is an incorrect statement. It was more instinctual. I crawled to an alcove under the lake and stayed there until I had healed enough to return to consciousness. By that time, you were gone and the opera was almost entirely destroyed. I stayed down there until starvation forced me to the surface. You most certainly saved my life, and ironically, had the Commune not thrown me into the water, my mind may have never been shocked back into life."

He stopped to kiss my forehead again, yanking off his gloves to touch flesh to flesh. His hand still bore that lifeless cold I had previously feared so greatly. Yet now, as he caressed the curvature of my neck and jaw, my own skin was so cold that it nearly matched.

"I realized that I couldn't find you by simply walking around asking about you. I returned favors for information and eventually that benefitted into a sort of enterprise. It was mostly luck and making wise choices that led me into a small fortune that amassed to a larger and larger one. I used every means to find you." His throat caught as he continued. "I promised I would protect you and I didn't. I failed you, Christine."

I pulled away slightly and looked him in the eyes. His pristine white mask was perfectly in place, but I could still see the pain etched into every visible feature. "It was not your fault, mon chere. There was nothing you could have done."

"If I had not gone after them, then maybe-"

"Then maybe they would have found us sooner," I interrupted. "We can't change the past. We can only go forward with what we are given."

"I never stopped searching for you, but I never anticipated you being so good at hiding," he added with a small smile. "You were always two steps ahead of us all. I had never meant to teach you to hide from the world, but to rise above it. Yet it appears that you learned more than I thought I was teaching. There were so many times that I thought I would never see you, and then we'd catch a whisper of a hint and we would chase it until it was a dead end or led to another clue. Who knew my little song bird was also a chameleon?"

An awkward sound of Richard clearing his throat broke the moment and we instantly took a small step back from each other, though still close enough to be able to touch without moving our feet.

"Your dinner will be getting cold. Could this conversation not be continued at the table?" he asked, very distantly polite. The Commander of the Commune seemed to vanish, and in his place, a worn man stood, defeated. Richard seemed to visibly shrink in the presence of Erik.

In lieu of the proper hand on the forearm, Erik held my hand firmly in his own as he led me in the direction of the served supper. I knew I would be most impressed with the banquet before me, but I was too distracted by staring at Erik to notice. He pulled the chair at the head of the table around to the side, setting it as close as possible to the next seat, where he led me to.

He kept his hand on the small of my back as the few maids and butlers re-arranged the place settings with looks that screamed louder than any spoken word. We ignored them mostly, but it was hard to not notice their strange behavior.

I tried to remain as dignified as I could, but I could not even make it through a single course before I the questions bubbled up inside of me. I set my utensil down and turned towards him. "Where did you look?"

"The most difficult was tracking you through the Commune. There were so many leads that all fell through. It did not help me any that you decided to cut off all your hair and change your name," he added with an amused smile. "Though, I supposed that was the best for you at the time. Once the Commune started retreating it became even more troublesome. We found an occasional soldier who recognized a drawing of you, but even when they could remember where they had seen you, by the time we could get in, you were gone. I thought we had you at last when we discovered Commander Bruence in the last Commune hospital still inside France. Commander Bruence, after overcoming a serious amount of shock, told us everything he knew."

I was surprised. "Everything?" I asked.

Erik nodded his head gravely. I could see the anger and pain flash across his face, only to vanish the next instant. "Yes. He agreed to help us to atone for some of his … transgressions. I remained to speak with him while Jaques, began to search in any possible place you may have gone to when you left there. He even searched the very hotel you were staying at, but by that time, you looked very little like the sketching and they sent him away. You had been laying just a few meters away, nearly frozen to death." Here, he stopped to regain himself and to press me briefly to him again. "We had exhausted every clue. We started searching every town from your last known location and outward for hundreds of miles."

"How many people were looking for me?"

"I lost count," he said with a smile. "I offered a reward for your safe return and the word spread and I was quickly overwhelmed with help."

"What did you offer as a reward?" I asked skeptically.

"Any one of my houses and the means to live comfortably for the rest of their days. I had several men under my direct employ who served me by investigating any and all reports of your sightings. I was staying at the Exchequer Hotel the second time because someone had discovered the body of a young girl buried so close to where we last knew you to be."

"Marie…" I said in a whisper, suddenly thrown back to the memory. I struggled for breath, my features strangely familiar to the ones that had taken over Erik's face just moments ago as he mentioned my near death.

"So it was later discovered. But before then, I had nearly convinced myself that it was you. Everything seemed to fit that you had died. I was in a most awful state. I had returned to my room at the hotel, ready to give up the whole search and end my suffering when a mysterious red rose appeared in my room. It gave me the hope I needed to renew my search. I knew at that moment that you could not be gone."

I could have laughed. "I left that rose in your room. I can't even explain why, but it felt so necessary. Ester through such a tantrum that it made me wonder if she was any relation to La Carlotta."

"She mistook my reaction as anger and returned it in kind," he lifted my arm to see the very slightest hint of Ester's rage: small, paper thin scars that would be gone in less than a year's time. Nevertheless, he kissed each one with slow attention, raising my flesh and flooding heat throughout my body.

We abandoned the untouched food at the table as he led me to the study. The shelves were mostly empty, but there were several books scattered about. Unlike most of the rest of the shrouded house, this room felt frequented and cared for.

Erik sat down on the sofa, pulling me into the place next to him. I marveled at how neither of us cared of how dismissing we were of societal norms. Never would a man sit in such close proximity to a young woman, nor even be in the same room alone with her. Even the Erik that had given me a home below the opera house would never be so informal with me. But things had changed. We had both come to realize that time was far too short to be bothered with practiced politeness. We wanted to be close to each other and we would not let such rules interrupt that. Still, I could not help but feel just a little gloriously scandalous at the act.

Letting my head rest against his chest, Erik buried his face in my hair, inhaling deeply. His hand ran down my arm and back up again, slowly, gently playing on my skin, like he was caressing the finished surface of one of his beloved instruments. The hand not occupied with creating trails of fire on my arm, played with the curls of my hair.

"Just to touch you again is heaven to me," he confessed.

"If only I had stopped running and hiding, we could have been together so much sooner."

"You did what you had to do to survive. We have the rest of our lives to make up for the time." His words seemed to trigger a thought because he pulled away from me. I ached at the loss. He stood and walked to one of the walls of shelves. Fingering a worn volume, he spoke with his back turned to me.

"Christine, I do not want you to feel obligated. You have the utmost freedom to make any decision you wish. I would never hold you against your will – not again. I do not want you to base your choice on what I would feel."

"Erik, you have not asked me anything yet," I reminded him. "How could I feel obligated to answer a question one way or another without knowing what the question is?" I stood from the settee, but did not yet walk towards him.

"Christine, I want to ask you stay with me. I give you my word that I have changed. I would never keep you against your will. You would be free to leave whenever you wished. Even if you say no, I still offer to provide you with any support that you would need: money, doctor's care, a house. Anything you could wish for, I will provide it as best I can."

I walked steadily towards him, while he spoke facing his books. Once he finally turned around, I was standing directly behind him. I had never seen him look so vulnerable before, not even that night in the opera house where he confessed he loved me and made me choose between Raoul and him.

"I could not live with a man, who treated me with such fragility." He looked visibly crushed at my words. His head hung and his chest heaved. I laid my hand on his cheek, lifting his gaze to mine. "If I am to spend my life with you, you cannot keep me on a pedestal. I do not want a man to stand behind me. I want a man to be beside me, without constant fear of frightening me away."

A little hope sparked in his eyes. "Does that mean …?"

"Yes," I gratefully admitted with a smile. "I will stay with you. I will go wherever you go and remain wherever you stay. I am yours, Erik. Now and forever."

I leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek but his head turned at just the last moment our lips met. Instead of pulling away, like my head knew it should, our bodies pressed together. Erik's hands were on my face, caressing my skin. As our kiss deepened, I began to realize that he kept his hands there to keep them from wandering elsewhere. My arms crossed behind his head. His tongue traced mine before dipping into my willing mouth.

My chest tightened, forcing a moan to escape in my throat. Erik's hands left my face and skimmed down my body to my corseted waist. He easily pulled me around and pressed me against the bookshelves. His hands travelled upwards slightly to my ribcage and much too close to my aching breasts.

Like a lightening flash suddenly streaking across the sky, the pressure of Erik's body against mine was gone and my skin felt suddenly cold without the heat from his touch. When I opened my eyes, Erik was at the opposite end of the room, breathing extremely heavy.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "I apologize. I should not have done that. I forgot how intoxicating you were. I no longer bear any resistance to you. I shall endeavor to better restrain myself in your presence."

My head was buzzing and my reaction to his words were delayed. We stood panting for a long moment before everything sunk in.

"What if I do not want you to restrain yourself?" I asked, moistening my lips. His eyes locked onto the action like a viper waiting for the smallest flinch as provocation to strike.

"I am no longer a child, Erik. I know what the feelings inside me mean and I'm not afraid of them. Well, not entirely afraid," I admitted with a nervous smile. "I will not let you spend every moment around me in agony. I just ask for some patience. It's going to take me a little while to get used to the idea."

"What idea is that?" he asked, his voice still raw. He distracted his eyes by looking up at the ceiling.

"Being in love."

Erik closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. He took a step towards me, stopping as he mentally checked himself, taking another deep breath and continuing.

When he reached out to take my hands, he was trembling violently.

"Christine, I love you, more than anything in the world. I will be everything that you need me to be and more."

"You already are," I said, smiling. I wanted to kiss him again, but I waited. He lifted both my hands, placing a soft kiss to each one before pulling me towards him, cradling me to his chest.

I closed my eyes and listened to his heartbeat, thundering out a steady tattoo. My own heart paced to match it and we stayed together, holding each other until long after the rest of the house retired to their respective rooms.

* * *

**A/N: Mwahahahahahaha!!! You didn't honestly think that I could possibly leave Erik dead, did you? He's the Phantom. Love never dies. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

Erik and I stayed firmly grasped in each other's arms for the entirety of the next day. Our time apart had made us realize how precious our time together was. What had died of us as individuals on our own was born anew into a shared bond, connecting us as a single being.

Helen was supposed to be arriving later that afternoon of the second day and I was anxious for her to get there. I missed her dearly. Erik promised me that she was being well taken care of, but I was still uneasy. We waited for lunch until she got there, but there was a delay of her arrival and the cook was sent back the food uneaten.

I distracted myself by giving into Erik's insistence at my pampering. I took a luxuriously long salt and rosewater bath. After which, my hair was put up in the latest style and topped with a small hat that pulled slightly to the right side of my forehead. The maid picked out a light lavender gown, with small yellow and green roses. My face was painted to look like a china doll. My normally pale skin had become tanned in the time outside, yet when they were done, I looked as if I had not seen the sun in a full year.

When I looked in the mirror I did not recognize myself. I was slightly worried that Helen would not recognize me either. I had still not heard the carriage that held her pull up in the time I was getting ready. Erik had planned on the three of us eating at his favorite restaurant that night and I wanted to dress her up as I had been dressed up.

Yet the minutes ticked into hours and the clock chimes began to make my heartbeat increase. Erik tried to console my nerves, but I could tell by the way his eyes would unfocus and snap back to attention at the shift of any noise.

Finally, unable to stand waiting for Helen any longer, I asked Erik if we could go in search for them. Maybe they had trouble on the road, or with the carriage and needed help. Erik finally broke down and acquiesced. He was just getting ready to head out to the stables when the dark carriage pulled into view.

I dashed out of the house and started to run towards the carriage, but Erik's arm was around my waist in an instant, holding me to him. His lips came to my ear from behind me.

"Be calm. There is someone in the carriage with them that does not belong there."

"What?" I turned to him, a horrified expression on my face.

"Do not panic. We do not want to arouse suspicion."

Erik wrapped his other arm across my trembling shoulders, hugging me too him as we waited for the carriage to pull in front of the house.

As the horse stopped with a snort and dug his hoof into the gravel, I could feel Erik stiffen behind me as we waited for the door to open and the occupants emerge. A man in a purple coat stepped out and I judged by Erik's lack of reaction that he was supposed to be there. He held out his hand, palm out, waiting for the next person to come out.

I recognized the tiny hand as soon as it appeared out of the darkened interior of the black carriage. Not even Erik's grasp could hold me back as I dashed forward and scooped Helen into my arms before her feet could even touch the ground. I carried her back to Erik who provided a shield with his body.

The third and final person was a man in a black and grey suit with a bowler hat that he took off and held in front of him.

"Inspector Risconi," Erik greeted tightly with the slightest tilt of his head.

"Count, forgive me for this unexpected intrusion, but I am here on formal matters."

"I see." Erik's entire body was tensed and ready to strike. I pressed Helen's face into my shoulder so that she wouldn't have witness the quick death of the inspector if Erik was unable to keep calm, but he was doing a remarkable job and I relaxed a miniscule amount when I forced myself to remember that Erik had changed from that man that I had known at the opera.

"It appears," began the inspector, "that there was a kidnapping last week. A woman took a small child and fled. We have been setting up road blocks all over and just chanced to meet your carriage. I was informed by your steward that he was taking this young girl shopping in the towns for a new dress. She fit the description we were given and, forgive me again, but I was unaware that you had any children. Naturally, I thought it only right that I investigate the matter a little further."

"Of course," Erik said, stepping back to put his arm formally around my shoulder. "Inspector, you have been wonderful in your assistance to find my Christine, I am please to introduce you to her."

Inspector Risconi gave a small, astonished bow.

"Inspector," I said, softly. "It's a pleasure to meet you." I gave a slight curtsey, trying to respond in accordance with Erik's words.

"What I did not make public was the fact that we had a child," Erik continued. "It might have made it easier to find them, but I am certain you will understand that I wanted to protect my daughter's identity, seeing as how her mother and I are only engaged. We found them just yesterday and were going out to celebrate. Naturally that required new attire. You are more than welcome to join us this evening if you would like to, inspector."

"No no. I have my own wife and children to get home to. Forgive the mistake. I see that this girl could not possibly be the one that was wrongfully taken. For one thing, her kidnapper was a mute, and your fiancée most certainly is not. And the resemblance between the child and the two of you leaves no room for doubt. If you would be so gracious to allow me to borrow a horse, I will return to my search."

"Nonsense, I will have you delivered back in the manner that you came. Please, borrow my carriage and driver. I insist."

"Thank you, count. Congratulations on finding your fiancée and daughter. I wish you the best in your lives together."

I was already taking Helen inside the house when Erik said his own goodbyes and the carriage carried the inspector away.

Only when the carriage was safely out of sight did I release my hold on Helen.

"The resemblance is uncanny," the stewed, Nicolas said, the first to speak out of the gathered ensemble of servants.

I looked at Helen and then at Erik. Their matching stormy grey eyes were examining each other closely. Erik knelt on one knee in front of her to look better in her face. Helen had the same raven black hair as Erik, but my tight ringlets.

Nicolas cleared his throat and motioned everyone to leave the three of us alone.

Helen turned to me, her eyes quizzical. "Is he the one you call to at night when you sleep? Is he the one you think of when you daydream? Is he the one you lost?"

Tears choked my words away and I could only nod. I thought I had hidden my pain from her, but she saw through me just the same.

"You called me your daughter," she said factually, turning back to Erik. "That man now believes that you are my father and Christine is my mother."

"Yes," Erik said unapologetically.

Helen took a breath before speaking again. "Can we be? Can we be a family? I promise I'll never tell anyone. I'm very good at keeping secrets."

Erik had a smile in his eyes when he stood and looked at me. "What do you think, Christine?"

* * *

The church bells had just started ringing as Helen finished the last of the pearl buttons on my wedding dress. There was a knock at the door and a pretty blonde head poked in.

"Meg! You made it! I thought I was going to have to walk down the aisle without flowers."

Meg and Madame Giry had been helping with the wedding preparations ever since they had received Erik's letter and hurried over from Milan to be with them. All the preparations but the flowers that had somehow been forgotten.

"Well, that's what happens when you only give us a week to plan the most spectacular last-minute part ever seen."

"Thank you, Meg. For everything you have done."

We embraced tightly for along moment until another knock sounded at the door.

"Christine?" the voice called through the door.

"Go away, go away," Meg shooed. "The groom can't see the bride before she walks down the aisle, it's not allowed."

"It's alright, Meg," I said with a laugh. "I asked him to come up."

Meg's mouth fell open, causing Helen to laugh. "Well, if you're going to let him see you, at least put on your dressing robe so he doesn't see all of the dress."

I agreed and Meg securely tied the pale green fabric around my waist, giving me a critical glance over before allowing Erik to enter.

"Come on, Helen," Meg called. "They don't want us bridesmaids getting in the way. We'll go tell them it'll be a few more minutes."

Just before Meg shut the door she gave a patronizing look, shaking her head and sending her blond curls bouncing.

"What's wrong?" Erik asked anxiously as soon as the door clicked shut.

"I just needed to see you," I confessed.

"Are you having second thoughts?" He tried to hide his worry, but it was plain on his face.

"Are you?"

"Of course not. I have known that I wanted you to be my bride for a very long time now. But if you need more time, I understand. We don't have to be married today if you do not wish it, mon ange."

"Nothing would make me happier than to be able to call myself your wife today."

"Then what is it? Has Helen said something?" he asked, so sure that something would happen to delay our happiness once again.

"No, she has said nothing but how excited she is to have a family."

Erik breathed a sigh of relief. We were both thinking of the week before when we had been sitting in the study while Erik read to Helen and me. Helen had turned unexpectedly and asked Erik directly, "Why do you wear a mask?"

"Because God saw fit to give me the face of demon."

"May I see?"

I sucked in a breath and bit my lip. "Helen dear," I began but Erik held up a finger to stop me.

"If she wants to be my daughter than perhaps it is best that she knows."

I was not sure who I wanted to shield more, Helen or Erik from what was sure to be her reaction to him.

Her small fingers traced the outline of his mask, innocent and curious. She peeled it back just a small bit, looking at where the deformity transformed his beautiful white skin to a twisted, red mass. She paused, realizing that the rest of his face must match. Erik sat with perfect stillness as Helen pulled more and more away, until she held the mask in her hands, completely exposing his face. I could see Erik's hands clenched until the tight skin turned milk-white. His eyes were closed as we waited for her inevitable scream.

But no scream came. Instead she seemed to slowly accept what she was seeing as reality. Without a word, she had walked back to my side, mask still in hand, and asked Erik to read us another story. No one was paying any attention to the story Erik chose to read, not even Erik. Helen was turning the mask over and over again in her hands while Erik and I watched her breathlessly.

When the story was done, Helen handed Erik back the mask and that was that. The subject was never spoken of again and it did not seem to matter to her whether Erik wore the mask or not, for she had no noticeable reaction upon seeing him either way after that.

It was still something that Erik and I waited for though. A scream from a nightmare to wake us up, or even a wince at seeing him without the mask, but so far, no reaction had come.

"Christine," Erik said, drawing me back to the present. "Why did you want to see me?"

"Just to tell you I can't wait to marry you," I said with a smile.

"Well, then if you're sure you don't want to wait, I'll go down and tell them we're ready?"

I nodded and he placed a kiss on my cheek. His hand was on the doorknob when I finally spoke what I needed to say.

"We really shouldn't wait anyway,"

He turned back towards me, confused. "Why is that?" he asked, guessing that there was something more that I wanted to say.

"Well, we've already made Helen an illegitimate child. It would be a shame if news got out that we had made a second."

I could see Erik work through what I had. When he finally realized my meaning, his eyes widened and a smile pulled at his lips.

"Do you mean?"

"Yes."

"You're pregnant?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Well now, Erik, I image that you could figure that out." A fire burned inside me as I remembered how we had spent every night for the last two weeks together, and most days at various times and conspicuous places. All our pent up passions had unfurled with a desperate need that we had yet to even begin to satiate.

"Now, hurry up and marry me so we can blame it on the honeymoon."

He crushed his lips to mine, holding me up and twirling me around. "I want you right now," he whispered in my ear.

I seriously debated letting him taken me, relishing the irony of being in my wedding dress, but I wanted to marry him already so we could have the whole next week to make it up to each other.

* * *

The organ sounded with the Wedding March as the doors to the chapel opened. Everyone stood and turned as I entered. At the end of the aisle, Erik waited impatiently. Our eyes caught instantly and he smiled, his eyes sliding down to my stomach and back up. Meg and Helen stood in their matching, deep, purple dresses.

My heart felt a moment of pain that my father was not there to walk me down the aisle, but I knew that he was watching me from heaven and that he was always with me.

Most of the faces that I passed as I made my way down the aisle strewn with rose petals with unfamiliar to me seeing as I had so few friends. Most of the girls I knew from the opera were long gone, though even then I had not been very close with many of them.

The few faces that I did recognize smiled at me with surprise at my changed appearance. James was the first that I spotted, his shock of red hair standing out among all the others. Next to him, with her arm linked closely around his was Isabella who gave a small wave, revealing an engagement ring on her left hand. Patrice stood next to her and gave me a small shrug and a smile at my surprised expression. Richard was nowhere to be seen, but I expected that. I was thankful for that even, though I wondered if it was because Erik did not invite him, or if he just didn't want to come. Janette was crying into a handkerchief while her husband looked awkwardly around, clearly hoping that no one was noticing her antics. Inspector Risconi gave a nod as I passed him.

Once my eyes locked again with Erik's, they saw nothing but him until they closed as we sealed our marriage vows with a kiss, and they saw nothing after but the beautiful life that Erik gave me and our children.

The end.

**A/N:** Well, my lovely readers, thank you for taking this journey with me and indulging my creative outlet. I hope that you enjoyed reading it as much as enjoyed writing it. I am honored that you would take time to read this and I hope to hear from you all in the future.

God bless!


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